


Rusted Shield

by Ambience (InStress_Panic)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Byleth gets their dad to watch the kids while they go fix the plot, Don't copy to another site, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Gen, New Game+, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Not that Jeralt knows that yet, Professor Jeralt, Time Travel Fix-It, no beta we die like Glenn, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InStress_Panic/pseuds/Ambience
Summary: Jeralt Eisner becomes a professor. His kid seems strangely excited about it.
Relationships: (past) Jeralt Reus Eisner/Sitri Eisner | Byleth's Mother, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 258
Kudos: 402





	1. Part I: Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Jeralt cusses sometimes.

20 years, and it still looks the same.

The monastery hasn’t changed at all in the two decades Jeralt’s been gone. Not a surprise. The place has always been a stagnant rock in the river of time, even as the world evolved around it. Parts of it had to advance to keep up with the technology, but the buildings, the stone walls, and even some of the people? Still the same.

_There_ is the bright mosaics and painted murals of the church he had once spent hours staring at in marvel. _There_ is the giant fishpond that's more of a lake, it's shining water whose leftmost pier he had spent an inordinate amount of time in. _There_ is the gazebo of tables and flower bushes he had fumbled his first tea party in, Sitri giggling at him from behind her tea cup.

Its familiarity had once brought him comfort. Now, all he feels is the slow-creeping dread crawling up his skin as they approach the reception hall doors.

He hasn't stepped foot in that room since he told Rhea he was leaving.

And Rhea herself? Well...

Like the monastery, the Rhea he had seen standing on that balcony looked like she hadn't changed in the 20 years he hasn't seen her. Jeralt still doesn't know whether to consider that a boon or a bane.

Was she the Rhea that had wedded him and Sitri with a smile so joyful it was infectious? Or was she the Rhea that had barely let go of Byleth, whose eyes sometimes glimmered with that sheen that was both desperate and calculating?

Something lightly touches his arm, jolting him from his thoughts. Byleth peers up at him, their elbow still raised near where they nudged him, face impassive except for the slight furrow of their brows that betrays their worry.

Jeralt pulls them into a one-armed hug as they walk. “Don’t worry about me, kid. It’s just been a while, is all.” Lower, so that only Byleth can hear him, he continues, “Just don’t trust whatever Lady Rhea says, alright? I’ve... never had the best relationship with the church.”

Byleth nods before staring forward again. They don’t pull away, which pretty much tells him they believe him.

It isn't like Jeralt has been hiding his distaste. As mercenaries, they avoided cities with sizeable church influence, and didn’t stay long in towns that could afford their own chapel and the like. Jeralt just never explained why. Or, just as likely, Byleth had never noticed. It's hard to tell with his kid sometimes.

Looking at where they both are now, he'll have to come clean to Byleth soon. It wouldn’t do good for them to be caught flat-footed in, quite literally, the central power of the Church of Sothis.

For a moment, he pauses before the doors, Byleth dutifully stopping beside him. He considers letting go of them to greet Rhea properly, and then discards the notion just as quickly.

Jeralt would rather he keep a hold on his kid for now, thanks.

That's how Rhea sees him after over 20 years, with his arm around his kid's shoulder. Jeralt lies through his teeth about Byleth's mother, knowing full well they look too much like Sitri for the farce to really take hold.

If she had refused to tell him what she did to Byleth, to his _kid_ , all those years ago, then he can damn well feed her whatever farcical lies he wants.

\--

They talk. There are greetings. Jeralt is tired and surly, resigned to being punted back into the Knights of Seiros as an acting Knight Captain if it means they won't be hunted down or whatever before Jeralt finds a way to leave again.

Meanwhile, his kid--

“No,” Byleth says, because Byleth has never shown fear and Jeralt felt inordinately proud of their calm defiance, even as his mind is suddenly sprinting like a chicken on fire, trying to plot an escape route out of the room, the building, the monastery, and probably the entire country as soon as he heard their answer.

“Pardon?” Rhea asks, surprised, her confused smile a little too uneven. It almost makes Jeralt snort. “Do you not want to be a professor? This is a chance to care and nurture for one or perhaps even all the future leaders of Fodlan. Such a prestigious position is almost impossible to come by, after all.”

“I am barely older than them.” Byleth’s words are soft, careful. “I can teach them, yes, but I am lacking in experience to truly give the lessons they deserve. I would not be a good professor.”

It’s only because Jeralt is looking at them that he sees the wry twitch of Byleth’s mouth as they say ‘professor’.

“They are correct,” the green-haired man beside Rhea suddenly says. What had Rhea introduced him as? Sirket? Sereth? Seteth? Who cares? He was agreeing. “The assistance they provided in rescuing the students need to be repaid, of course, but they are far too young to be a professor of all things. Many of our own professors here had to undergo rigorous tests and training to pass our standards and giving a position away that easily would likely not sit well with them."

Jeralt has a feeling that if Byleth had said yes, Rhea would have made them a professor no matter what this Seteth's protests were.

Rhea frowns. She never really did like anyone disagreeing with her. "Very well," she sighs. "I cannot force you if that is not what you wish. Perhaps something else? Your father had once been a Knights of Seiros, as you heard. Perhaps something similar might suit you?" 

"Not really. I would prefer to continue with my mercenary work. As my father is to stay here, may I visit him often?" Byleth looks at her with that kind of calm, imploring gaze that always seems to draw people in despite their stoic face. "I would not mind making the monastery our central base if you are willing to let us do so."

That brings out a smile on Rhea's face. A real one this time. "Any child of Jeralt's is always welcome here, and any men under his command as well."

"That, at least, is doable," Seteth muses, looking up as he thinks. "I will arrange for you and your mercenaries to be allowed lodgings in the bunkhouses usually reserved for our hired battalions."

Jeralt nods. At the very least, this was a much better outcome than he imagined. Byleth can come and go from the monastery whenever they wished. Hopefully _, go_ more than _come_. Jeralt will make sure to keep an eye out in case Rhea becomes too interested and then tell Byleth to keep away when she is. Perhaps leave Fodlan entirely, if it came to it.

And then Seteth looks back at Jeralt and opens his mouth again. “Captain Jeralt Eisner, was it? From what I understand, you left the Knights of Seiros years ago. While I will not ask you for your reason, perhaps it was rash of us to push you towards the responsibility of acting-Knight Captain again--”

“Damn right,” Jeralt mutters.

“— and so I would like to give you a new offer. Would you prefer to become a professor instead?” And any goodwill Jeralt has of him threw itself out the window and splat on the pavement below.

What.

“What,” Jeralt says out loud, staring at the man incredulously.

“Seteth?” Rhea looks at him, a curious note in her voice. Even Byleth is looking at him curiously, a light in their eyes that Jeralt has only ever seen when they’re discussing tactics over the campfire.

“I have read past reports of when Captain Jeralt was still in service,” the man admits without shame. “He has trained many of our knights, so we know he has experience, and judging from the glowing reports of past teachers and students, as well as his reputation, it would not be as much of an insult to the scholars and other professionals we have turned away if we made him a professor.”

“Uh, no? No,” Jeralt finishes firmly. He glances at Byleth for support, but Byleth is looking at him with a tilt of their head. Oh goddess. Jeralt knows that. That’s Byleth’s ‘I’m considering it’ tilt.

“You have always been a good teacher,” they say slowly, hand clasping at their chin as they think. It’s cute, but also, no.

“For a mercenary captain. And I've only ever taught the mercs that needed it _fighting_.”

“You are also very good at haggling, negotiating, and leading. All very good skills outside combat.” Byleth is not helping his case here. In fact, they seem to be buying more and more into the position.

“I’m a mercenary,” he says, exasperated. “No noble kid would want to be taught by an old mercenary like me.”

Byleth pounds their fist on their hand, the expression on their face unchanging yet confident. “They will not mind.” They sound knowing, sure. More than that, they sound _hopeful_ , and honestly, even just that slight inflection of their voice makes Jeralt consider it.

And, well, it’s been a while since Byleth has last asked for something outside of anything they need to survive as a merc. Flowers, Jeralt has taught them from bittersweet memories of Sitris’s words. Fishing, from Jeralt's own experience. Cooking-- That had required borrowing kitchens in the houses they had travelled through, but Jeralt still learned alongside them. Jeralt has never denied them anything they explicitly asked for.

“Do you really want me to stay here and teach those brats?” Jeralt sighs, resigned.

Byleth nods solemnly, sealing his fate.

Fuck. This’ll be a lot of work. At least if he had been made acting-captain, he already had an idea of what the job entailed. Being a professor was a whole different cake. Not to mention, they’ll be within eyesight of _Rhea_. Whatever they do, Rhea is still clearly interested in Byleth despite declining her offers. It'll be difficult as flames to disappear from the church again. He doesn't have the convenience of a fire to take advantage of this time.

“ _Fine_.”

Rhea smiles, like a cat with a canary, and Seteth nods, satisfied.

But Jeralt doesn’t notice any of that. Instead, he catches the slow blooming smile on Byleth’s face, their eyes crinkling like Sitri’s had, and he knows in his heart of hearts that he can’t turn away the position now. Not when he would do anything to see their kid smile like that again.

\--

Jeralt takes a sip from the cup with a satisfied hum.

Ah, coffee.

If he has to work here, he might as well take advantage of the church’s _generous_ coffers and enjoy the free coffee they give to the professors. Coffee was expensive, and something he did not indulge in as a mercenary captain that had to maintain and lead a group of 75 people. Now, he can just snatch some beans up from the kitchens with none of the kitchen staff stopping him.

And if it cost the church a little extra, then that was a pettiness he was happy to indulge.

Then again, the circumstances that brought him here in the first place might not make that coffee worth it.

Here in his new office, smaller than his old one as a captain, but carefully decorated to have the same aura of professionalism, surrounded by papers and folders of teaching syllabuses, curriculum requirements, and headaches.

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Jeralt grouses, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan. On the table before him are the lesson plans both Hanneman and Manuela had lended to him out of pity. At least they had weeks to make theirs. Meanwhile, Jeralt had only a few days.

Joy.

Byleth, the lucky brat, who had neatly sidestepped any and all of Rhea’s attempts to hire them in whatever capacity at the monastery, huffs, more amused than offended. They place down the books they’ve borrowed from the library on the study table. Most of them are to help him for lectures. If Byleth hadn’t been this excited (as much as they can be excited) at the prospect of him being a professor, Jeralt would have thrown all the paperwork out the window and left before dusk was even a shade on the sky.

Jeralt is pretty sure that the only reason Rhea hasn’t pushed to at least boot Byleth into being a combat instructor is because Jeralt himself is stuck in the monastery with his new job. They might not be under her thumb, but Jeralt is.

“You will be a good professor,” Byleth says. They peer down on the half-scribbled plans he has for the lessons and takes one of the papers to squint at it.

Jeralt snorts, more at Byleth squinting than at their words. His handwriting's not _that_ bad. “Thanks kid, but teaching moves in a training ground is different from teaching lessons in a classroom.”

Their eyes flicker to look at him. “You can teach lessons in the training grounds. We can carry the chalkboard there.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hmmm.” They tap at the folder of Hanneman’s syllabus and lesson plans, something with a lot of reason magic and bows amidst all the church-mandated subjects the monastery requires. Thank the goddess the church has bishops or whatever that take over the Religious Studies part of the monastery's curriculum. If Jeralt had to teach it, he'd laugh himself off the mountain. “I will help you. You're not very good at axes. And magic.”

“Gee. Thanks,” Jeralt says wryly. “I plan on getting Hanneman or Manuela to take over for me when it comes to magic. I’ll handle whatever weapon lessons and the like they want in exchange. And excuse you, I’m plenty good at axes.” Enough when needed, at least.

“Of course.” Byleth nods agreeably. "But I'm still better."

Jeralt chuckles. He reaches up to ruffle their short hair. “Fine, fine. Thanks anyway, kid. I'll tell you when I need your help with a lesson or something.”

Byleth nods, eyes brightening just slightly. Jeralt makes a mental note to _definitely_ get their help for a lesson, then.

“I can help you with this, too,” they continue, not minding that their hair settled at weird angles now. They gesture to the paper in their hands. “What class are you teaching? You did not meet any of the students earlier.”

Well, Jeralt had spent the afternoon getting to know his fellow professors and getting a crash course on how to make the damn lesson plans in the first place. Training regimes, he can do. Teaching shit based on a set syllabus? Not so much. Byleth, on the other hand, had spent the entire afternoon talking to the students. Strange, since they didn’t usually socialize unless told to, but Jeralt was glad to see them talking to people their own age. The mercenaries loved them, but most of them were older than Byleth. Old enough to have watched them chase after rabbit with a wooden stick for a sword and trip over it. The story still gets told when the mercs get drunk enough.

“I was with Manuela and Hanneman. Blue Lions. And I didn’t know you knew how to make these lesson plan things,” Jeralt answers in reverse order, raising his eyebrows at the last sentence.

Byleth skips the implied question. “Why the Blue Lions?” They lean forward, staring intensely. Jeralt recognizes the slight widening of their eyes, their hands bracing on the table as they lean forward. It was like seeing Byleth catch fish for the first time, them holding out the rod with their catch hanging on the hook, eyes wide but face impassive.

_Do you like it? Do you like what I did?_ They had implied with everything but their words.

Except this time, the Blue Lions weren’t a caught fish or a mastered sword move or a good shot, but they were important enough to Byleth that Jeralt’s opinion mattered.

Huh. Maybe Byleth made some new friends this afternoon.

Jeralt shelves his questions for later and says, “Because most of them jive well with my skillset. It was a toss-up between the Blue Lions and the Golden Deer, but I picked the former since I’m much, much better with a lance than a bow. A lot of them are lancers, since it’s one of the most popular weapons in Faerghus." In fact, as a former Knight of Faerghus, it was why he had picked the weapon to specialize in years ago. "Not to mention, Seteth said at least two of them want to be knights in their enrollment letters. Knowing Faerghus and its chivalry shtick, a few others might want it as well. I’m probably better at getting them where they want compared to the other two professors.”

Byleth nods. Then, they tilt their head, considering. “Felix does not want to be a knight.”

Jeralt shuffles the name in his head until he finds a match. “Ah, the Fraldarius kid? Then he won’t. No skin off my back. I hear he’s pretty good with a sword. We’ll see where he wants to go with that.”

“Mercedes wants to be a bishop.”

“I can get Manuela to tutor her, along with any of the other brats who want healing.”

“Annette is good at reason, but she wants to be better with an axe. Dedue as well. He would be good as a fortress knight.”

“I can get them to the basics if they need it, and even advanced techniques afterwards, but I’ll likely need your help for higher techniques after they master those. The heavy armor thing, I think I can get Alois to teach the Duscur boy. Now.” Jeralt stretches on their seat before settling an elbow on their table and resting his chin on his hand. “Why are you so interested in how I teach these kids? I mean, not complaining, but you weren't this this involved when I was training the mercs.”

Byleth crosses their arms, brows furrowed in a way that Jeralt recognizes as them gathering the right words. “Ah.” They pound their fist on their other hand’s open palm, their eyes brightening as they look back at him. “Teaching students is different from teaching mercenaries. They are younger, still discovering themselves and the world around them. Their experiences are different from one another, and so they must be taught differently. I want you to be ready.”

The words come out smooth but mechanical, almost like they're mimicking someone. It makes Jeralt’s lips twitch, though he resists the urge to grin. Byleth had sounded so serious, and he didn’t want to make light of it. “Smart words. I guess those brats are the future of Fodlan or whatnot,” he says instead. “Where did you learn that from?”

“From you.”

Huh.

Well. Jeralt certainly can’t remember saying that. Maybe he shat out some nuggets of wisdom while drunk?

“You will be a good professor,” they say after a while. "Thank you for taking the position. I know it will be difficult for you at first since you are still unfamiliar with it."

Jeralt shrugs. "I've never backed down from a challenge, kid." He leans back on his seat. “Sounds like you would be a good one, too. You seem to know a lot of these kids after just an afternoon of talking to them. Then again, you were always observant.”

Something flashes in their eyes, quick enough that Jeralt almost doubts seeing it.

“Felix and Sylvain can be good at magic,” they say after a short silence, skipping over what he said entirely. “Please teach them. They will be very good when they understand it.”

“Alright, kid,” Jeralt sighs. He doesn’t push. At least, for now. "Do you know what you plan on doing while I'm here? You pretty much dodged all of Rhea's attempts to hire you." Which was hilarious, Jeralt admits. After being offered his teaching position, Rhea had turned back to Byleth with more offers. Watching Rhea perform verbal somersaults while Byleth efficiently dodges all attempts with blank eyed, logical stoicism had been the highlight of his entire week so far. Rhea had seemed too intent on staying in Byleth's good graces, and so she hadn't been too forceful with her offers.

Yet.

"I would like to take charge of the mercenaries," they say slowly, testing the words.

Jeralt rubs his chin. "Yeah, you said that earlier in the reception hall. We were planning on letting you lead half the group for a while now. Just didn't expect it to happen this soon."

"And the job we were supposed to take in the Kingdom? May I lead that?"

"Do you want to? You'll be handling some poachers in Gautier territory." Simple enough problem, but Jeralt was a veteran merc and knew it was just the Margrave testing their group before handing them a bigger and better paying job to handle. It'll be a good testing ground for Byleth to suss out the clients on their own. If things turned sour, Bites and the other mercs will make sure to bail them out for him.

"Does it need to be resolved immediately?"

Jeralt shrugs. "Not really. They don't expect us there for another two weeks." Jeralt had planned on going early and finishing quickly, but all that derailed the moment Alois saw him at Remire.

"Then I would like to stay for the mock battle," Byleth says. The mock battle itself is three days away. Plenty of time left to head to Gautier territory.

He snorts despite himself. "You want to see a bunch of kids whack each other with wooden weapons?"

Byleth doesn't look, but their hand wraps around the hilt of the sheathed dagger on their waist, their thumb rubbing the pommel. "Yes, but only if the weapons are wooden."

"Then I don't see why not. Just-- leave as soon as you can, okay?"

For Jeralt's stressed aching heart at least. He's far, far too old to always be worrying about his kid like this. Byleth's an adult now with enough skill to protect themselves and survive on their own if it came down to it. He just hopes they'll take his words about the church and Rhea seriously.

Byleth looks back at him with a small frown. "Father... Why do you not trust Rhea? Did something happen?" Their face, stoic and calm as always, is inscrutable to him. Jeralt had learned to read their mood through their actions rather than their facial expressions. There's no tension in the way they hold themselves as they look at him, waiting calmly for an answer they expect to come.

Jeralt closes his eyes to the sight of Sitri's frown on their kid's face, rubbing his eyelids. "Yeah. Something did happen."

He really should tell them. There was no point in keeping it a secret now that they were here. At the very least, it would make them more wary around Rhea.

He sighs, opening his eyes to look at Byleth and ground down the seriousness if his words. "When--"

A knock reverberates from his office door, light but insistent.

Goddess, damnit.

"It's open!" He calls out.

One of the monastery kids opens the door and walks in, his arms full of more notebooks and papers. From the sweat clinging on their dark skin, he probably ran here. "Seteth says you might need this, um, professor. It's from the old one. The one that ran away."

More lesson plans? Ugh. Jeralt groans and leans back on his chair. "Thanks. Just put it down over here."

Instead of putting it on the table, Byleth gently takes the papers from the kid with a nod. "Thank you, Cyril."

The kid, or Cyril now he guesses, blinks at them, wide-eyed. "How did you--? Well. Whatever. If you or the professor need anything else, just tell me, okay? Lady Rhea says to make sure you feel welcome here since the professor's an old friend." And then he leaves, quick as he came. They can hear his sprint echoing in the hallway outside the door.

"That kid's in a hurry," Jeralt muses. Monastery orphans didn't actually do a lot of work outside chores like feeding the cats or helping in the kitchen. At least, that was how it was back when he was still a knight.

"He takes on too many jobs without complaint." Byleth spreads the papers on his desk, adding it on to the pile of, what Jeralt wants to call, 'a fucking hassle'.

"Hey, kid. About Rhea..."

Byleth shakes their head. "Later. I will help you with these instead."

Despite the words itching in Jeralt's throat, the sigh he releases is relieved, if a little frustrated at the sudden change in direction. "Sure. Remind me to tell you before you leave for Gautier, alright? Maybe you'll have some good sense not to return to the monastery after hearing it."

"Likely not," Byleth says reasonably. "I still have something to come back to, after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went with the Blue Lions because 1) Jeralt was from Faerghus, 2) LANCES 3) I'm currently playing the BL route on Maddening so it's the most familiar to me. Other students will arrive in due time. 
> 
> Edit: 22/04/2020. Missing words.


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt meets the Blue Lions, tosses a book, and has a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Jeralt still cusses.

On the day he's supposed to meet his class, Jeralt heads to the Blue Lion classroom and writes out a note on the chalkboard to meet him in the training grounds.

A classroom really hammers in the fact that he's a professor now. It's still an unfamiliar enough a concept to wrap his head around, and meeting somewhere where he once spent a lot of time in like the training grounds will at least get him used to the idea. The closest he's ever gotten to teaching in a classroom were occasional seminars, and those had been decades ago.

When the Blue Lions arrive, Jeralt’s already surveying the wooden weapons on the racks, balancing one of the training lances in his hand.

Without looking at them, he starts his introduction. “Name’s Jeralt Eisner. Former captain of the Knights of Seiros, but now a captain of my own mercenary band.” He pauses, turning to the students that had swarmed through the doors. “Well, my kid is leading them now that I’m a professor here. Call me Professor Jeralt I guess.” Jeralt scowls. Professor. It sounds out of place when put behind his name.

The dark blue haired kid with his hair in a bun narrows his eyes. Something about his face gives him a pang of nostalgia. “The Blade Breaker. I look forward to testing my sword against you, but answer me this. Why did you quit being a knight?”

“Felix—” one of the blonde girls hisses.

"Doesn't anyone find it strange that the _greatest_ Knight of Seiros suddenly up and quit at the peak of his career?" The kid says, challenging. Despite trying to silence her friend, the blonde girl looks just as curious, her brows furrowed and lips twitching down.

Smart. Jeralt feels a pang of annoyance, but not enough to drive him angry. He's had to deal with questions like that for more than two decades now. Instead, Jeralt gives him an unimpressed look. "Personal reasons, brat.”

When the kid still looks dissatisfied, Jeralt snorts and says, “If you beat me, I’ll tell you why. The reason isn't something I like to throw around carelessly.” Not that Jeralt thinks the kid can. Not for a while, at least.

At this, the Fraldarius kid, and Jeralt can recognize that face now, nods.

So. A Fraldarius. Glancing at the princeling standing at the other side of the group reminds him a Blaidydd is in this class, too.

Like fathers, like sons. Those two families were always so damn close. Their fathers had been attached to the hip back in the day, though judging by how the Blaidydd kid and Fraldarius kid seem to hold themselves far apart from each other, they probably have a wildly different relationship this generation.

Not his problem.

“Anyway," he calls out, turning to them fully and gesturing to the weapons rack behind him. "Grab a weapon, or magic if that's your shtick, and introduce yourselves. I want to see where you brats are at and what your goals are before we plan for the mock battle.”

\--

The spars go just about how Jeralt expects after that weird evening of Byleth pretty much laying down the Blue Lion's strengths and weaknesses.

Annette and Mercedes, the only two mages in the class, have their magic. Annette only knows reason while Mercedes doesn't have any offensive magic, more focused on Faith. That's a problem for Hanneman and Manuela respectively, but those kids do have an interest in weapons that he can work on. Like Byleth had said, Annette mentioned she wanted to learn more about handling an axe. Meanwhile, Mercedes had taken up archery as an aside, but Jeralt recognizes she has a talent for it if nurtured. He'll train her on it as a secondary weapon since he knows she'll probably stick more to Faith magic because of the whole 'Bishop' thing Byleth had mentioned.

There's Dedue, who's good enough with an axe that Jeralt makes a mental note to discuss it with Alois later. Byleth can take over his lessons any time they're back in the monastery if they want. Byleth was right about the kid wanting to train with more armor. Dedue had come up to Jeralt later in the class to discuss it. More things for Alois to teach.

That Ashe kid definitely has a talent for both bows _and_ lances, and Jeralt will damn make sure the kid becomes a bow knight he's obviously meant to be. Ingrid has the chops to become a damn good knight as well, and while Jeralt can make her good with a sword and unstoppable with a lance, he’ll have to find someone else to teach her how to maneuver a Pegasus while in battle. She said she already knew how to fly one, so that was a problem he didn't need to solve at least.

Sylvain and Dimitri are both skilled with the lance. A product of years of training from Faerghus, no doubt. Dimitri takes to lancework more seriously between the two of them. In fact, Sylvain seems determined _not_ to be good at it. A load of bullshit Jeralt will have to untangle at some point.

Last is Felix, skilled enough with a sword to remind Jeralt of Byleth at his age. Byleth will have to step in with that one. Jeralt can hold his own with a sword - he did teach Byleth after all, before the kid pretty much surpassed him and got more advanced lessons from the other mercs. He looks forward to surrendering the brat to Byleth's tender mercy as soon as they have the free time.

None of the Blue Lions beat him, but it isn't like Jeralt expected them to.

"Good job," Jeralt praises. He slams the end of his lance into the ground, leaning on it with ease. "You brats aren't as hopeless as I thought you'd be."

He'd have preferred more time to polish their skills for the mock battle, but he still needs to finalize the lesson plans Byleth helped him make and then present it to Seteth in case he missed something. Jeralt may not have chosen this professor gig, but he isn't going to half-ass the damn job.

Around him, the Blue Lions are settled on the watcher's benches at the side of the training ground in various states of disarray, covered in sweat and smeared with dirt. Felix has the worst of it. The kid had been determined to beat him no matter how many times Jeralt sent him on his ass.

Jeralt barely even made a sweat.

That determination will either make him one of the best warriors in his generation or drive him to an early grave. Jeralt resigns himself to keeping a close eye on him.

"Our thanks, professor," Dimitri says, blue eyes bright and face flushed from their spar. "To think we would be taught by the Blade Breaker himself. It's an honor."

"The Blade Breaker," Ashe breathes. "My older brother told me so many stories about you, professor. He said you once fought off twenty bandits with only the split parts of a broken lance."

"Is that true, professor?" Ingrid asks.

Professor, professor, professor.

Jeralt tries very hard not to turn around and look for someone else when they say it. Instead, he walks towards the table where the jugs of water are and pours himself a cup to drink. "Depends." he says after finishing it. "I've fought with a snapped lance before. Tip for all you brats, your best bet's still carrying a second weapon with you, but if you have nothing else, a broken weapon's still sharp enough to fight with. You just have to be creative."

They all nod. A few of them look like they're hanging on to every word even though Jeralt's only saying things that are common sense. They'll hopefully bleed out all that hero worship soon.

He turns to Sylvain, the last one he sparred with, and gestures at the kid with the butt of his lance. "He still alive?"

Sylvain, draped alone on the nearest bench like a swooning maiden, has an arm over his eyes and is still out of breath. He lifts his other hand with a wave, wheezing, "It's fine. I'm fine professor." With visible effort, he props himself up on one elbow to complain. "I didn't expect you to be so hard on me."

"I'm hard on all of you," Jeralt says wryly, knowing full well he did push the kid after he realized Sylvain wasn't taking things seriously. He pours another cup of water from one of the jugs, nudging Sylvain on his chest with the butt of his lance to hand him the cup. "Sit up. Drink water. Slowly."

Jeralt turns back to the rest of the class. "Now. I'd love to test you kids on other skills too, but I have several months of lessons to plan and not enough time to get it done before Seteth breaks down my door or something. You've all heard of the mock battle, right?"

Taking in a breath, Dimitri answers for them. "A battle between the three houses to showcase their individual skills at the beginning of the year."

He inclines his head in acknowledgement. "Yep. We've had it for as long as the monastery started the academy. It's to draw a line between the skills you have now and the skills you'll develop later in the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion. It's a good way to measure how far you've improved over the school year."

"Not to mention the bragging rights," Sylvain adds, making Jeralt snort. The kid sits up fully with a grin after he finishes his water, leaning forward on his knees. "What's the plan for the mock battle professor?"

"That's for all of you to talk amongst yourselves with." Jeralt picks up a book he had placed on the table earlier and tosses it to Dimitri. The prince catches it, but barely, nearly dropping his training lance in his haste. "That's the tactics primer I had back when I was still a Knight in Faerghus. Read as much of it as you can and meet up in my office tomorrow afternoon to talk about your strategy for the mock battle. That afternoon meeting is meant for all of you, by the way," he says the last part wryly.

Sylvain groans, but none of them protest to it.

Jeralt puts away his training lance. "I don't care what you do between then and now. Train. Study. Relax. Just be ready for the meeting tomorrow and the mock battle the day after. I might not be able to help you train right now, but I can at least give you enough tools to make sure I'm not throwing you lot into the fire when the mock battle starts."

\--

The lesson plan he submits ends up stamped with Seteth's approval. Some parts of it were from Byleth's suggestions. A few from the other professors. A fair sum had been from the previous professor's notes.

To balance out Manuela and Hanneman, Jeralt isn't surprised to find out the previous class professor had been focused more on weapons and battalion handling. A skilled guard captain from Leicester who, he finds out later in Remire, had been killed in the bandit attack after he ran away. Whether he did it to escape or to lead the bandits away is forever buried with the man.

The question of which is left up in the air for now.

The bigger mystery here is that Byleth had pretty much surmised what the kids were good at after just an afternoon of talking to them. Byleth has always been better at reading people than showing their own emotions. Jeralt shouldn't be surprised.

Something nags at him to ask, but he doesn't want to discourage Byleth's newfound confidence around people their own age.

And, most importantly, Byleth had smiled.

It hadn't been an incline of their head, eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. Not the blank-faced purse of their lips when they hear a bad joke. Not the intense stare of interest when they find something curious.

A full on smile. Bright. Warm. Like the sun, blooming on their face.

Jeralt can't help but wonder why.

Was it their age? The kids? The monastery itself? Had Jeralt been mistaken when he ran away all those years ago, gambling his child’s safety by painting Rhea as more dangerous than the uncertainty of the outdoors? Did they need this place to be able to show emotions so freely, sparse they may be?

He has always tried his best to understand Byleth. The language of their feelings was a different dialect he had to learn, but one he did not regret doing so. He had never pushed them to be more emotional than they are when he can see what they think and how they feel from what they do.

But if it had been a product of his own selfish actions--

Jeralt lets himself stew in the guilt, frowning down at his scarred hands. If he had failed as a father—

He sighs, running a hand over his hair. It did him useless to ponder over suppositions like that until he asks Byleth.

A knock on the door of his office makes him look up.

“It’s open,” he calls out.

The Blue Lion house leader opens the doorway, his vassal looming behind him. The rest of the class peers in curiously.

“Come on in.” Jeralt gestures to the free chair across the table before pausing and glances back at them all. Shit. He only has two chairs. “You know what? Let’s stand.”

They gather around the table and Dimitri pulls out the Tactics Primer from underneath his house cape. Jeralt had dug the Primer out from his old bookshelf at the Captain’s Office. He had also taken the rolled-up maps that had been gathering dust at the corner of said office, slightly affronted when it looked like the previous captain hadn't used them. One of the maps is spread open on the table, colored pebbles in containers beside it.

“You read it?” Jeralt asks brusquely.

Dimitri nods, book carefully held in his hands. “It was enlightening, Professor. I’ve read similar books before, but none as personal as this one. The handwriting was difficult to discern at times, but it would not be remiss to have this printed. Did you know the author, professor?”

“Yeah. Me.”

“Oh, truly?” Dimitri’s ears redden. “I—apologies, professor. I didn’t mean to say your handwriting was—Well, it was readable, and the strategies you proposed and the examples around them were incredibly detailed—”

Jeralt snorts out a laugh. “It’s fine, kid. My handwriting was shit when I first started. I'm much better now than I was before.” After keeping a journal for goddess knows how long, it better be nicer. That Primer in Dimitri's hand is likely 10 times older than the prince is. It had been something to do to keep track of what he had learned. Afterwards, the habit of writing things down stayed with him, from his knighting in Faerghus all the way to working as a mercenary captain.

"I am still so sorry." Dimitri winces when he sees Annette hiding a laugh. He hands the book back to Jeralt. "Thank you for letting us borrow it, professor."

Professor. Still sounds weird. Out of place.

He doesn't _need_ to be called professor, does he?

“Just call me captain, kid." He looks at the rest of the class. "In fact, all of you should call me captain. Professor makes me sound too much like a scholarly type.” He’s technically still a merc captain, right? Right. Byleth will just have to share.

Shaking his head, Jeralt gestures to the pebbles on the table. They're small enough to fit on the pad of his smallest finger individually. “Anyway, I want to see what you’ve learned. The pieces are labeled by color: Red for lancers, yellow for cavalries, and the like. I’ll propose a situation, and you tell me what you want to do. The rest of you can help. In fact, the rest of you _should_ help. A commander is only as good as the people they're leading. It’s crude way to learn strategy, and I’m warning you now that actual battles are more complicated than this, but it’ll help you practice. And—”

At this, Jeralt looks Dimitri in the eye with a challenge on his lips. “That was my first tactics primer, and there were mistakes I had to relearn in later years. If you can point out where I was wrong, well—congrats. That means you're smarter than I was when I was your age. I can give you my more advanced ones if you ask. I wrote a lot of it down when I was younger.”

Annette raises a hand. "Can we borrow the Tactics Primer too, professor?"

"Captain," he corrects. "And sure. I only gave it to the prince here since he'll be the one leading you tomorrow. Just don't ruin it. That thing's older than you are." He looks at the rest of the class gathered around the table. Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid take up an entire side. Annette and Ashe have the end of the table, opposite to where Jeralt's standing. Mercedes hovers behind them. Dedue and Dimitri have the last side to Jeralt's right, Dimitri nearest to him.

It's a little cramped, but it reminds Jeralt of studying enemy movements over war tables. All that's missing is a dagger to stab into the map and an angry cartographer to yell at the stabber.

"This is rather well-made prof-- Captain." Dimitri leans down closer, a hand on his chin. He traces the jagged lines on the far end of the map. "What manner of language is this? It looks familiar."

Sylvain leans forward as well. "I think that's--" His head snaps back up to Jeralt. "Hey captain, is that the language from Sreng?"

"Yep. That's a detailed map of the Itha plains back when Sreng still had it."

"My father would have had this burned." Sylvain whistles, impressed.  


"I'd like to see him try." It earns a muffled snort from Felix. Jeralt smirks at him before he turns back to the table, taking out more of the colored stones. "You have four lancers, one axeman, one myrmidon, one archer, and two monks." He puts down each uniquely colored piece respectively in the middle of the map. He then takes out more of them. Placing these ones on another part of the map with more care, he continues, "If the enemy has two lancers, two axemen, two archers and three monks, one with healing, on the higher ground here and arranged in these positions, what's the best way to engage them?"

The Blue Lions look at each other. A few of them lean forward, excited. Dimitri takes the reigns with a gleam in his eye and starts the discussion. "I propose--"

\--

The tactics lesson ends up taking longer than he expected, everyone debating extensively at every new situation Jeralt proposes. Some like Sylvain, Ingrid, Felix, and Dimitri even challenge his corrections. A good thing to encourage. Annette spends the entire time writing everything down with her tongue sticking out in concentration. Dedue, Ashe, and Mercedes have their own suggestions, but they prefer to listen, barring the time when Mercedes points out that if the stones represented each of them, she can't attack offensively without a bow as she didn't know any spells that could hurt anyone.

Byleth walks in at the middle of their session, walks out, and then walks back in later with Cyril and several trays of food balanced on their arms. Jeralt has to roll away the maps to let all the kids eat on the table, them still debating on a recreated battle on the map of the Tailtean Plains he had.

"We should get a sofa," Byleth hums, looking at them.

"Great idea, Byleth. This place could look a little more homey," Ashe says, looking around the office. Byleth actually jumps at the sound of their name. Or rather, their shoulders hike up just slightly, gaze snapping to Ashe with a blink, much to the kid's embarrassment. "Oh." Ashe chews his lower lip. "Should I have called you something else? Did I hear your name wrong? You did say your name was Byleth the other day, right?"

"I did," they say after a flicker of a moment. They nod at Ashe and the rest of the Lions. "Apologies. I was surprised. You may call me Byleth."

Jeralt hides a smile behind his hand.

After dinner, Byleth joins in on the session and revives everyone's excitement with a fervor when they admit to knowing where the mock battle might happen. Jeralt kicks the entire class out before the curfew and orders them to go to sleep.

The next day dawns.

All of them come to the battlefield with plans the Blue Lions easily adjust once they see where they're positioned. Up on an incline with a healing tile at the top to take advantage of. The Black Eagles have a healing tile of their own, as well as barricades for protection. Meanwhile, the Golden Deer have the cover of the forest, their location less obvious and, in turn, their position more difficult to discern than the other two classes.

All nine of them, including Jeralt who has to join but has resolved to keep his mouth shut and let Dimitri do the leading, confer briefly to go over the plans one more time before taking their place, all the kids confident after being drilled extensively the night before.

Jeralt doesn't want to say the Blue Lions came overprepared for the mock battle.

But the Blue Lions definitely came overprepared for the mock battle.

\--

Hours later, Jeralt hangs back as the students start the slow, steady trek back to the monastery. Despite it just being a play at a real fight, he's buoyed by the cheer that emanates from the Blue Lions after their victory.

It wasn't a landslide victory. Annette had been taken out by an archer from the Golden Deer's ambush. Felix had ended his fight with a swordswoman from the Black Eagles at a draw, both of them eliminating the other at the same time. Nonetheless, the kids, and they are still kids no matter their skills -- Jeralt's too fucking old to consider them otherwise -- had potential. He finds himself actually looking forward to helping them improve.

He watches them bicker with a twitch of his lips.

Sylvain, Felix, and Ashe, walk at the front of the group while the girls occupy the middle. Sylvain has his arm around Ashe as the boy talks. Ashe, still riding the high of the battle, waves his arms as he describes Dedue going head to head with Edelgard.

"Dedue had her on her guard, but I thought for sure he was done for when we saw Hubert coming for him. And then out of nowhere--"

"Mercy swoops in and hits him straight in the head with an arrow!" Annette finishes, hopping from one foot to another, all excitable energy despite being taken out early. "Just-- bam!" She strikes one hand forward with fingers first, mimicking the hit.

It hits Felix at the back of his shoulder, both of them yelping in surprise. Sylvain wheezes as Felix stumbles forward, catching himself before he can fully trip. He turns back to Annette with a glare.

"Watch it!"

"Sorry!"

Beside her, Mercedes giggles. Both girls are holding hands with each other, swinging it as they walk. "Oh, that was just a lucky shot. I'm sure if I hadn't hit him, Ashe would have followed up like we had planned."

"Luck may have played a part in it, but don't discount your actions Mercedes," Ingrid says on her other side. In front of them, Ashe nods vigorously. "You bought enough time for His Highness to go around Hubert and finish him off."

Sylvain glances at the far end of the parade of students where the Black Eagles are walking with their own professor. "Hard not to be distracted when your head is still ringing from a blunted arrow."

"He still has the bruise," Felix says, also looking. He and Sylvain exchange grins. Felix's was more of a smirk, but even he seems to be energized by their win.

Dimitri watches it all with a smile of his own, small and close-lipped, but genuine. He and Dedue keep pace with Jeralt's slow gait easily, both of them walking beside him. Dimitri's cheeks are flushed red from the exertion of the fight. When Ashe recounts another spectacular feat of Dedue's in avid detail, Dimitri's grin widens enough for a sliver of teeth to show, obviously proud.

"I wonder why Professor Manuela hasn't healed it yet," Ashe murmurs, glancing back at them as well.

Jeralt looks over at the Black Eagles. Manuela is talking to a black haired kid that's taller than her and holding an iced poultice on the side of his head. "Healers avoid fixing minor injuries like that when they can. Too much of Faith magic can make the body dependent on it, and minor injuries can become major if the body isn't used to recovering on its own."

"Ah. That makes sense." Ashe nods.

Sylvain pulls him closer with a sly grin. "Now, now, Ashe. It isn't just that. When you get a bruise from a beautiful girl, you can use it to gain some sympathy and get some-- ow!"

Ingrid, who's walking backwards now to glare at him, pulls back her fist again, ready to strike him on the arm. "Don't make me hit you again."

"Just do it," Felix says, unsympathetic.

"Please do," Dimitri sighs at the same time.

They both freeze. Dimitri with an uncertain look on his face while Felix tenses at the front, taking great care not to look back at him.

Strange. If Jeralt remembers correctly, their fathers had been inseparable at their age.

Sylvain sighs dramatically, drawing the attention back to him. "Why are you all so cruel to me?" He leans on Ashe, hard enough to nearly stagger the boy with his weight. "At least Ashe is nice to me."

"That's because you're too heavy to kick off," Felix shoots back immediately.

That breaks the tension. Sylvain lets out another yelp as Ingrid hits him again. Both Sylvain and Ashe stumble to the side and hit Felix, who yells and pushes back. All of it makes Annette laugh hard enough to snort and hide her face on Mercedes's shoulder.

Beside him, Dimitri's shoulders lose their tenseness with a sigh. Everyone else returns to talking, but a glance at Dimitri's troubled face shows the kid is still stuck on it.

Jeralt looks down at him with a raised brow. "Anything I need to know?"

Dimitri shakes his head. "It's something Felix and I must resolve on our own."

"If you need to talk to about it, just come to my office or something." He scratches his beard, looking away from the kid. That's a thing professors do, right? Offering a willing ear to a student's problem? "One day, you'll both have to fight in a real battle together. I need to know if I can trust you both to watch each other's back, even if you hate each other."

"I can assure you, I have no qualms with Felix. Rather, I had done something years ago to make him detest me. I don't want to invite you into our problems, Captain." Dimitri looks ahead, eyes hooded. "I'm afraid it would color your opinion of me."

Looking back ahead as well to where the other Blue Lions are ribbing each other, Jeralt says, "Kid. Chances are, whatever you did isn't anything new to me. And I'm a teacher now. I'm supposed to listen to your problems and help you improve past any bad shit you did."

Dimitri stays silent.

Jeralt has just enough time to wonder if he fucked up on the first week of teaching when he hears salvation catching up, taking their place at his side.

"Father," Byleth greets.

Thank Sothis.

"What's up, kid?" Jeralt greets them back by ruffling their hair. Good timing like that needs to be rewarded.

"I came to congratulate you," Byleth tells him. Then they turn to Dimitri and Dedue, nodding. "You all did very well."

Dimitri smiles, inclining his head. "My thanks, but it's more the others' contributions than my own that won us the victory."

Byleth frowns at him, slowing down to walk behind the two students instead. "All of you worked well together. You supported each other's strengths and defended each other's weaknesses. I saw the way you turned your retreat into a pincer attack, as well as your fight with Leonie. It was good." To Dedue, they say, "You did very well protecting Mercedes. Your awareness to threats kept her safe, even when the Eagles focused on her."

"Just accept the compliment," Jeralt says, exasperation and fondness leaking in his tone. "They won't let up unless you do."

Dimitri's smile turns wry. "I suppose I must, if that is so. Thank you."

"I thank you as well." Dedue bows.

Byleth nods, satisfied. “Good,” Byleth says, and to both Jeralt’s and Dimitri’s surprise, they reach up and ruffle Dimitri’s hair, face impassive as they do so except for a hint of warmth in their eyes.

Dimitri freezes, looking for all the world like he had never had his hair touched before. The tips of his ears start hinting red.

They pat him one more time before turning to Dedue and doing the same. The action is made awkward by how high up they have to reach, but the sight is enough for Jeralt to clamp his mouth closed, pursed lips twitching. They finish and turn to Jeralt, not catching how, behind their back, Dimitri is touching his head with a bewildered look on his face, much to Dedue's amusement. “I shall go congratulate the rest of the students.”

Jeralt nods. “Sure. See you at dinner, kid.”

The tornado that is Byleth inserts themselves into the group of Blue Lions in front of them. Once they're gone, Jeralt bursts into laughter, bending forward as he cracks up.

“Captain!”

Jeralt wipes a tear from the side of his eye. “Hah! Sorry kid. By doesn’t usually do that kind of stuff. They probably got it from me.” Goddess, is it strange he feels warm about it? The mercs always did say Byleth liked to mimic him. “Anyway. They’re right. You did a good job.” Jeralt grins as he, too, reaches out and ruffles the kid’s hair. The blonde strands of Dimitri's hair are strangely soft. Huh. Maybe Jeralt should do this more then.

Dedue is standing on Dimitri's other side, too far away for Jeralt to reach, so he grins at the kid instead, getting a small smile in return

“Captain Jeralt--!” Dimitri sputters. It’s too put together to be called a whine but it's near enough that it makes him want to laugh again. Despite protesting, Dimitri doesn’t move away, taking his hair ruffling with red-faced dignity, seemingly stuck between relaxing into the touch or pulling away from it.

He chuckles as he pulls his hand away. “You did great. All the Blue Lions did. Remind me to hand you all some of my other tactics books when I have the time, alright?"

\--

The Blue Lions celebrate by taking an entire table in the dining hall and stacking it so full of food that Jeralt is impressed the table legs are still holding. Instead of everyone taking a plate of what they want, the kitchen staff lets them take platters pf food with separate empty plates and utensils to share the meals.

It'll mean more washing, but the princeling promised that his class will clean up their plates themselves.

At the moment, all of them are clustered around the table in little groups. Mercedes, Ashe, and Dedue sit together, the latter explaining something while the other two listen attentively. Sylvain is twisted around, flirting with a pair of girls from the next table behind him. Dimitri has a grip on the back of Sylvain's uniform that's keeping him from leaning all the way into the pair of girls's space, looking resigned to his lot in life.

Ingrid and Annette, judging from the "Please, please, please," Annette is mouthing, are both pleading at Felix, who is looking at a dessert cup in front of him in disgust. Then, Felix sighs. They stop and stare at him with wide eyes. Felix, without hesitating, looks straight at Ingrid and pushes his dessert to Annette, who cheers and snatches it away, making Ingrid pout.

All this Jeralt watches with a slight quirk on his lips. With a shake of his head, he collects a trayful of food, enough for two people, and heads to his office. He doesn't actually have any work left to finish. This is more of a personal preference. The mock battle highlighted areas those brats needed to work on and he has in mind some training regimes that he wants to write down for them.

He opens the door to his office. Pauses.

"Where in Creation did you find a tea set?" Jeralt says, honestly baffled as he closes the door behind him with his foot.

Byleth, midway from tilting the tea pot into a matching teacup painted a warm orange on the rim, glances at him from the corner of their eye and continues pouring. "Ferdinand let me borrow a set. I plan to ask him tomorrow if he knows where I may buy one."

"Ferdinand who?"

"Black Eagles. Bright orange hair. Lance."

"Ah. That kid Ashe shot after he rushed off and beat that purple kid from the Deer?" The orange kid had barely celebrated his victory before Ashe took advantage and eliminated him with a well-placed shot. Jeralt still remembers resisting the urge to move out of position himself just so he can clasp him on the shoulder for a job well done.

"Yes."

"I guess brewing it over the fireplace is better than doing it over the campfire." Jeralt sets his plate on one side of the table and the papers with Seteth's tips on the other. "Didn't take you for a fan of it, though."

Byleth shrugs. "You make horrible tea. After Ferdinand taught me how, I have found the routine to be calming."

"Can't dispute that. When did the kid teach you?"

Byleth blows at their cup and sips it. "A while ago." They slide another cup of steaming tea in front of him.

Jeralt pulls it closer for a sniff. A nice, cool scent that reminds him of a cold breeze. "Mint?" He takes a sip. He'd much prefer coffee or ale, but he can appreciate a good cup of tea. Sitri's favorite had been Angelica.

"To help you work." And, again, they offer, "I can help you with that if you prefer."

He takes a long, long sip from his tea. "You still haven't told me where you learned how to make lesson plans. Pretty sure none of the mercs were ex professors or whatever."

"That is a no, then."

Again, they've ignored it.

For the first time in their life, Byleth has a secret they don't want to tell. He's never been put in this position before. Usually, Jeralt is the one with secrets, and Byleth lets him keep them safely tucked between them. It makes the tea taste bitter in his mouth.

If this is how Byleth feels for all the shit Jeralt's kept from them, then he deserves this.

"Yeah." He puts down the cup. "Go do your own thing. Designing training regimes is old hat for an old man like me."

Byleth nods. They take the second plate of food from the tray and eat from the opposite side of the table.

Both of them fall silent as they eat, more concentrated on the food than each other.

The silence drags on except for the clink of their utensils. It's not awkward. Comfortable silences have been their staple since forever. Byleth doesn't even look bothered, enjoying their meal with a gusto only shown in how fast they clear out their plate.

So why in Creation does it seem like the kid he's raised feels so far away?

Whatever Byleth is hiding, it probably isn't even that big. Worrying about it is irrational. Maybe they met someone who knew those kind of stuff in one of their jobs and Jeralt just never noticed. Maybe they were even from the monastery. That would certainly explain Byleth keeping it a secret. Jeralt made it obvious he doesn't want to be here. It's more likely he would find it grimly funny that for all his paranoia and avoidance of the church, Byleth still found a way to learn about it

No. It's more like he doesn't like the thought of his kid thinking they can't share things with him.

He can't blame Byleth. He's damn proud of them, really. He'd be a hypocrite to feel offended that they're hiding something when he can't even bring himself to talk about Sitri, never mind the fact that Byleth has never asked. Then there's the stuff about Rhea he's hidden for the past two decades.

Byleth mimics, right?

Jeralt takes another sip of his tea after he finishes his meal and scowls when he finds the cup empty. He sighs, putting it down with a dull clink. No avoiding it now. "So. About Rhea."

They immediately look at him, forked meat hovering over their mouth for another bite.

He snickers. "Finish your damn food first, kid."

They practically swallow the last quarter of their meal in one bite. Afterwards, they push the plate away and turn to him fully. "Tell me about Rhea."

So Jeralt does.

First is the stuff Jeralt doesn't care much about: how he was from Faerghus; him escorting Rhea through Fhirdiad with a contingent of fellow knights; a bandit attack; of Rhea saving him by getting him to drink her blood, and the crest he gained afterwards--

"You drank her blood," Byleth interrupts, brows furrowing in thought.

Jeralt winces. "Yeah. Don't ask me how that works. Apparently it's usually something done with the high ranking officials of the church. I was an exception. We get an enhanced lifespan and the Crest of Seiros. Really makes you wonder about how crests are made, huh?"

They stare at him, eyes growing wide. "Like the high ranking officials," they say blankly, squeezing over the grooves of their vambrace so tight Jeralt can hear the metal plates straining against each other.

Jeralt leans forward, worried. "Kid?"

They close their eyes. The hand not gripping their the vambrace clenches into a fist. "Please continue."

Jeralt reaches over and places his large hand over their own, rubbing his thumb on the tense muscles of their wrist. Their hand is warm underneath their gloves. Byleth's eyes snap open at the touch, but after seeing him, they relax almost immediately, their shoulders slumping forward.

"Sure," Jeralt says soothingly. "Where was I?"

"Rhea's blood."

"Right, yeah. I'm more than two centuries old, I think---"

He talks about his age and losing track of it; the years spent as a Knight of Seiros; and Rhea. Just Rhea. A friendship built over decades of knowing each other.

Then comes the hardest part.

He can't help the warm tone his voice goes to when talking about meeting Sitri. It all comes spilling out. Years of keeping her memory so close to his chest just bursting out into a whirl of ache and affection. How Byleth looks like her except for their dark blue hair. How she read all the books in the library and could quote her favorite books when asked. How she would listen for hours to the choir but could never carry a tune herself. Despite the fact that he was supposed to explain why he doesn't trust Rhea, he spends more time telling Byleth of Sitri. Byleth doesn't point it out. Instead, they pull his hand closer and cling on to it like they once did when they were younger.

"She died while I was out on a mission." Jeralt's voice doesn't catch, saying the words with a calm he barely feels over the hollowness he has in his chest. "We knew it was a possibility, but she loved you so much kid. She wanted to give you everything. I remember she kept praying that you wouldn't get her frail health and being attentive and careful to give you the best chance at being born healthy. She didn't want you to have the same life she did. She wanted so much for you to see the world like she never got to." He places a hand on his chest, right over where he knows their engagement rings rest. "She made me promise to take you traveling."

"We have been all over Fodlan," Byleth realizes.

"Part of it was to avoid the church, but yeah." He grins. "We have, haven't we?"

"Would my mother have been proud of us?"

"I'd like to think she would be."

And, like before, Byleth's lips curl into a smile like sunlight, easing the ache in his heart into a gentle warmth.

There's that smile. A little bit of Sitri born anew.

Jeralt coughs, squeezing their hand again. "So. Rhea told me Sitri died from childbirth and that she sacrificed her life in exchange for yours. Both you and Sitri had already been dying after she gave birth to you, apparently, and whatever Sitri asked for made sure you got to live. Rhea never told me what or how, no matter how much I bothered her about it."

They furrow their brow. "Were you angry?"

"That Rhea was keeping secrets? Yeah."

"No. About me." Whatever light in their eyes from before has retreated back into their head, their face back into that stoic expression. "Mother would have lived if she never had me."

"What? Never," Jeralt swears, letting go of their hand and holding their shoulders instead. "It was her choice. Rhea may have lied about a lot of things, but I knew her long enough to know she didn't lie about that. I will always honor your mother's choice no matter how much I miss her, got it? No kid of mine is going to blame themselves for something they couldn't control."

They stare at him, a flicker in their eyes before settling down again. "Alright," they finally say, gently clasping their hands together.

"Good." Jeralt lets go of them and leans back, scratching his beard. "Back to the topic. The problem wasn't your mother dying. It was Rhea. It was her being too interested. It was her keeping secrets. It was her looking at you like some kind of _experiment,_ " he spits. "--instead of a person. I couldn't take it. I saw shadows everywhere, and every night I wondered if she would take you away. I had a doctor look at you and he told me you didn't have a heartbeat. A heartbeat! I was terrified of what else she would do if we stayed."

He covers his eyes with a sigh. "So I ran. There was a fire. An accident, really, but I hid you with a friend and told Rhea you died in the flames. I gave her my resignation, got you back once I was far enough away from the monastery, and ran."

"Ah." There's the sound of shifting. A bump of metal, likely Byleth's armor, on the wooden table. "Who was the friend?"

"Aelfric. He knew a lot of hidden places in the monastery after growing up here." Jeralt quirks his lips. "Maybe I should introduce you. He was your mom's best friend. I haven't seen him since we got here, though."

"I would like that."

"So that's it," Jeralt ends. He looks back on the table. Gathers up paper to give him something to do. Training regimes. He will make training regimes and not think of any heavy feelings like betrayal and hurt and heartaches. "That's everything. Want to run away yet?"

Byleth stares at him stoically.

"That's a no, then," he sighs. He spreads the paper on his desk.

"Thank you for telling me." They say as they push a pen closer to him. "It was nice to hear it from you personally."

"Have any other questions?"

"Yes." They pause, gripping their vambrace again. "Did Rhea ever give you a stone? A crest shard?"

"Not from what I can remember. Why?"

Byleth shakes their head. "She gives them to members of the church she shared her blood to. If she gives you one, don't accept it."

"No accepting mysterious rocks. Got it." Jeralt writes the first name for a training regime on the paper. "You want to tell me how you found out? Even I didn't know that."

They pause, look to the side, and then back at him. "I was investigating church secrets," they say, calmer than their statement had any right to be.

Jeralt's pen hovers over the paper, dripping a small drop of ink on the first 'e' of Annette's name. "What," he says.

"You were not telling me anything. And so I looked for answers on my own." They don't even sound accusing. It would be just like Byleth to solve things by themselves if they can.

"Pretty sure that information isn't in the library, kid."

"It wasn't."

They stare at each other.

"I plan to continue investigating," Byleth finally says, unrepentant.

Jeralt practically _feels_ his old age catching up to him.

"Is it because of what I said? Does finding out what Rhea did really matter to you?" he says tiredly.

Byleth looks away.

Jeralt resists the urge to hide his face in his hands. This is what he gets for telling them. "I don't know what to say except thank the goddess you haven't been caught. If I say no, will you stop?"

Byleth shakes their head.

Stubborn.

"Just be careful," he sighs. "Can't we just run away and head off to Almyra instead?"

The tension in their stance relaxes. "Not yet," they say. Alarming. Jeralt will look into escape routes tomorrow. "Do you know how to break the wards in the records room?"

Sothis help him.

Jeralt runs a hand over his face. With another sigh, he says, "Remember those high ranking church officials? They can access it anytime. You need a Crest of Seiros to open them. Pretty sure that Seteth guy can as well."

"Can I use the blood of someone with the Crest of Seiros?"

He shrugs helplessly. "Probably."

"Can I use yours?"

Sure. Whatever. Byleth jumps off a cliff, Jeralt will follow, wondering the entire time how he raised such a reckless kid.

He groans. "Just get me an empty vial tomorrow."

Goddess. And he was so sure the hardest part of the year was going to be teaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was 3K longer than I planned. The Byleth and Jeralt talk was a nightmare to write and I hope it came out well. Jeralt's secrets are out of the way fairly early since they're not the focus of the fic. Sorry Jeralt. By appreciates that they don't have to hear it from a piece of paper this time, at least.
> 
> At some point, I shall write fight scenes, but that day is not today. The Blue Lions also weren't supposed to be as involved yet, but there they go. In case it wasn't obvious, all of them participated in the mock battle. All eight of the main students + their professor in each house.
> 
> Also, you ever just think of how if Jeralt lived and the SS route happened, he'd be one of those turned into a white demonic beast thing. Because I do. And so does Byleth now. It does not make them happy.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next update is either Wednesday again or Thursday.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt drinks a lot of tea and Byleth finally leaves for Gautier territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some cusses.

"I feel like, as your father, I should not be encouraging you to go through with this."

"Trifling with the church is not generally recommended, yes," Byleth says reasonably. Unreasonably, they hold up their hand, palm up, and ask, "May I have the vial now?"

Jeralt pretends not to hear them, lifting the stoppered vial up to the sunlight from the window, the vial small enough to be held safely between his finger and his thumb. It glints a menacing red under the light of his office. "There's being curious. And then there's being reckless enough to poke a sleeping dragon with a sword. I'm pretty sure you're on the latter part, kid."

"In this respect, the dragon isn't sleeping."

In this respect, Jeralt now regrets ever saying anything because that statement is not doing good things to his heart. "That's a... morbid way to continue the metaphor. Just promise me you won't get eaten."

"Of course."

"And if things get dangerous, you'll back out."

"It will not come to that point."

"And that, if you get caught, you'll head straight for Remire and hide there until we can meet up. Or if you get captured, wait 'til I find a way to get you out."

"I will not get caught," Byleth says, actually sounding affronted.

"Humor me."

"I will not get caught." Byleth's gaze flickers to behind his shoulder. The corners of their lips twitch. Jeralt follows their gaze but there's nothing behind him except for the table of his office and the rolled maps he placed on the bookshelf. It distracts him enough that he almost doesn't see Byleth reaching up to take the vial.

"Sothis help me, that confidence is going to get you killed," he mutters. He lets Byleth snatch the vial from him anyway.

They take out a leather cord from the inner pocket of their overcoat and tie it around the small dip under the mouth of the vial. They knot the remaining length of the cord around their neck and tuck the vial under their armor. 

"Thank you," they say, patting the spot over their chest where the vial is.

It's official.

Byleth is going to commit heresy.

Letting Byleth do this still doesn't sit well with him. Jeralt knows he can't stop it, so he won't. He'd rather help and be a stepping stone to whatever goal his kid has rather than be an obstacle they have to overcome.

Sure, Jeralt sometimes can't sleep at night when the question of what really had happened on By's birth pounds at his head, but he had resolved years ago to prioritize their safety over whatever answers he wants to find. It's just his luck that those two have finally intersected. And not for the better, in Jeralt's opinion.

Sighing, he puts the thought out of his mind and gathers his notes. "That it, kid? The teaching staff has a meeting in a few."

"With Seteth, yes?" Byleth follows him to the door.

"Yep. Him and the other professors. Just confirming schedules and who's assigned to do the seminars this month and the like." He stops Byleth from opening the door with a hand on the wooden surface. "Hey," he says, low despite the fact that they're the only ones in the room. "If you find out anything about what happened to your mother..."

Byleth nods. Their next few words are steady, but careful. "I would like more stories about her, when we have the time."

"Sure, kid." It comes out soft. Jeralt coughs and repeats, louder. "Sure. It was kind of shit of me to keep her all to myself, anyway." Talking about her last night had felt better, in a way. It still hurt, but the distance of time made it more bearable. Or perhaps Jeralt had merely gotten used to it. "I can even lend you some of my old journals, if you'd like. Goddess knows I wrote about Sitri a lot there."

"I'd rather hear it from you," Byleth says, just as softly as he had, and who is Jeralt to say no to that?

\--

As professors of the main classes, their offices were found near the library, nestled beside each other with their House colors on display beside the doors. Jeralt's had the cobalt blue of the Blue Lions banner. Hanneman's, whose office was stuffed with books and a crest analyzer that likely took ages to install, had the Golden Deers. Manuela's had the Black Eagles, although she claimed to prefer to do her grading in the infirmary where she can be available for an emergency. Or where she's near enough to the hangover cures in the medicine cabinet.

Even the branch professors had own their offices nearby, though theirs weren't as personalized as the other three's.

The placement of their offices meant that students know exactly where their professors can be found. It's an easy task to consult a teacher when they're literally in the same hallway as the library.

It's no surprise for them to come across a student on their way to the staff meeting, even this early in the school year.

The student's cape, shorter than the other two house leaders, shines a bright gold, and it sways slightly as the student spots them, two fingers and a thumb pressed together in a casual wave.

Jeralt remembers the kid from back in Remire and in the mock battle later, holding his bow with a confidence born off years of training. A Riegan. The way he shoots - nocking an arrow upward, drawing with his thumb - means he's training to shoot from a mount. It's not perfect, but the skill is there.

"Hey Byleth. Hey Prof!" He pauses just in front of them, an easy grin on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. It's not obvious, but after dealing with By's micro expressions for years, it's practically blaring. "Or should I call you Captain, now? The Lions were very vocal about it when they looked for you last night."

Byleth nods in hello. Meanwhile, Jeralt frowns, crossing his arms. "Just captain, kid. Do I look like a professor to you?" Rolling his shoulders, he continues. "So what did my class want?"

"To celebrate with you, mostly. It's too bad you left so early, Cap." The student leans back to look at Jeralt properly, smiling. "Congratulations, by the way. I didn't expect to be outmaneuvered by His Princeliness, but with you at his side, I wasn't too surprised."

"Dimitri has a good head on his shoulders, but don't knock yourself out, kid." Jeralt scratches his beard. "If some of the Golden Deer hadn't moved out of position, your ambush would have caught us off guard. As it stood, Ashe managed to keep an eye on your general direction when he saw where those kids had come from." The budding archer had an awareness of his surroundings not usually found in most nobles.

The kid's smile turns a little more crooked. A little more real. "Thanks. I accounted for Lorenz not following my orders, but--" He drawls off, shrugging. "I was hoping the Eagles he and Ignatz lured out kept you guys engaged. My second plan involved us taking out long-distance hitters while you were busy."

"You definitely got our only offense mage," Jeralt says wryly, making the kid laugh. Annette had not been happy about her early elimination.

Byleth follows their conversation with that wide-eyed concentration. That same intense look on their face that reminds him of that night they had asked Jeralt's opinion on the Blue Lions.

Hm.

"Anyway," the kid says. "I heard about that thing with the maps you did from Sylvain. Like a war table? I'd love to try it myself sometime."

Jeralt looks out the window. No bells to signify the hour yet, but it will soon. "Talk to me again later, kid. I have a staff meeting to go to. If you want, we'll do that with the Golden Deer sometime, since I'll be the one teaching you lot battle tactics, too." The whole thing was more of a game, really, but it kept the kids engaged and helped hammer in lessons when not in a real battle.

"I think the Deer would love that. Leonie hasn't shut up about you since the mock battle. As much as I want to pry your head about some of the stories she told, didn't you say you have a staff meeting to head to?"

"With Seteth," Byleth adds, looking at the kid with a slow blink. Jeralt raises a brow at that.

The kid laughs again, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, wouldn't want to get on his bad side. Don't let me keep ya', Cap. Good to see you too, Byleth." He walks backward as he talks. With one last wave, he turns on his heel and jogs towards the library.

Byleth's gaze follows him until he disappears beyond the doors.

"You remember what his name was?" Jeralt asks as they get back to walking. "I know he's a Riegan."

"Claude," Byleth answers. They clasp their chin with one hand, tilting their head slightly. "I need to check something. How long will your meeting be?"

Dear Sothis, they're going to break into Seteth's office. "Maybe an hour," he says. "But whatever you're planning, get out before the half hour mark."

Perhaps the seriousness of the situation has finally dawned on them, or Jeralt's worry has surfaced to his face, because they give him a solemn nod, hand moving over their chest plate where the vial would be. "I'll try my best."

\--

The meeting does end up taking only half an hour. There's really not much left to do than plan the weekend seminars for the month and confirm the schedules. A bishop is assigned to work on the students's Religious Studies. A professor that has several books written under her name will take over History. Hanneman will mainly focus on Reason. Manuela on Faith. Jeralt on Authority and Tactics. The rest of the weapons lessons are shared between them and a bunch of combat instructors, depending on the day.

And of course, as the main class professors, they have a responsibility to help each student with their goals and lessons individually. A kind of specialized teaching curriculum not enjoyed by the branch students.

"It's good to see you're not too overwhelmed by the workload. I imagine the transition from a captain to a teacher is not easy," Hanneman says as they finish up. "Why, I remember my first day. I could barely keep track of anything that wasn't my research!"

"You hardly keep your attention on anything that isn't your research _now_." Manuela rolls her eyes.

"After 16 years of teaching in this institution, I do know how to prioritize. It just so happens that I've optimized my time to--"

Seteth sighs. He then turns to Jeralt, ignoring the bickering in the background. "While your classes have not yet officially started, I am also glad to see you adjusting fairly well Jeralt."

"Byleth's been helping me through most of it." Jeralt feels a twitch of a smile on his face. "Kid's got a knack for the paperwork involved and they seem to have a good grasp of the brats after only a few days of meeting them." If he wasn't as paranoid over Rhea as he is, he would have suggested Byleth take a position as a combat instructor.

"Please do not call the students of our monastery 'brats'." Another sigh. "Although it is rather surprising that you claim your child has a talent for teaching." Seteth purses his lips in thought. It hadn't been long ago that he had protested Rhea's offer to make Byleth a professor. "Perhaps in a few years, if they garner enough of a reputation like yours, they can apply for the position once more. This time formally, I hope," he says in the wry tone of a man who preferred the order of routine. It's the first sense of humor Jeralt's seen on him, and it makes Jeralt's lips twitch.

If Byleth hadn't somehow earned the ire of the church with their snooping, sure.

\--

Jeralt drags on their talk for as much as he can, but he's never been a verbose man, and Seteth seems like the kind of person who kept a schedule. They part ways in front of Seteth's office, Jeralt making sure his voice is loud enough to carry in the hallway as he says goodbye.

With the meeting over, and no Byleth in sight, Jeralt heads back to his own office.

It worries him a little that Byleth isn't back, but Jeralt hadn't exactly said they would meet up back here.

No use thinking about it. He had seen a glimpse of Seteth's office when the man opened the door, and the place was empty. Maybe he was wrong and Byleth hadn't rummaged through the place.

If nothing else, he can ask By what he found later tonight. With Byleth leaving tomorrow, the mercs have plans to get shit-faced in one of the town's taverns.

He arrives in his office. Empty.

A calendar hangs on the bulletin board situated at the backwall, on which Jeralt writes down the dates for his seminars. Another note is hung up, this time detailing the class schedules he and the other professors had set up. He leaves his teaching shit on the side table under the bulletin board where he can easily snatch it up when the classes start.

The maps he had, ehem, requisitioned from the captains office, the bulletin board, and By's borrowed tea set are the only things in the room that are personalized.

"This place really could use a sofa," he mutters. He'll have to move the tactics lesson with maps to the classroom, but there's still a chance students will come by to consult with him or something. At the very least, he can use the sofa for a quick nap.

There's still mint leaves to spare from Byleth's tea last night. Were those the ones meant for relaxing? Eh. He's sure most blends are meant to calm the nerves in some way. He takes the tray with the set and the tin of leaves to the lounge room. There, he brews himself some tea.

Once he's finished boiling the kettle, he pours himself a cup and leans on one of the desk tables. He takes a sip, face scrunching as the taste hits his mouth.

Yep. That's leaf water.

This is why he avoids making his own tea.

Never one to waste anything, even bad tea, he brings it back to his office. He holds the tray with one hand, twists the knob of the door to the room to push it open, and is greeted to the sight of Byleth hunching over his table, poring over something on the surface, the Claude kid looking down at it beside them. Their clothes are a mess. It's not clear on the black of the monastery's uniform and the black of Byleth's entire outfit, but the Claude kid's cape looks noticeably less shinier than before, gray stricken on the golden color in messy smudges.

Claude's head snaps towards him at the sound of the door, eyes flashing before he relaxes into an easy smile, only slightly more sheepish. Byleth doesn't look up, but they do wave at him.

“And what are you two doing?” Jeralt raises a brow at them as he places the tray on the side table under the bulletin board. He leans his hip on it and takes his unfinished cup, holding it in front of him. It looks ridiculously small in his hand.

“Hey, Cap." Claude leans forward, elbows on the table, almost partially obscuring his view of what looked like a set of papers. "Byleth here offered to show those maps of yours to me. Is it true you have one of Sreng, too?"

“We are also investigating church secrets,” Byleth adds, never one to lie.

Claude freezes.

Jeralt’s heart freezes too, but he has long since been inured by the weird things Byleth has started doing lately. He places that feeling in a box and puts it away for now. “Seteth's not going to break down the door, is he?”

All three turn towards the door.

When no angry green-haired man in bishop robes barges in, Jeralt sighs.

"I did say I would not get caught," Byleth hums, pleased.

Jeralt looks pointedly at the student hovering beside Byleth, who is looking between them and Jeralt with a glint in his eyes.

Claude raises both his arms when he sees Jeralt glaring at him, shrugging innocently. "I did nothing wrong."

"I found him in Seteth's office," Byleth says helpfully.

Jeralt takes a very, very long sip of his tea.

"In my defense, I couldn't open anything except for student records and the like." Claude turns to Byleth, his arms folding behind his head casually in a way no one in this room feels except, perhaps, Byleth themselves. "You, on the other hand... I definitely saw you open up that warded shelf with that neat little thing you have around your neck. What is that? A potion? From what I can smell.."

Jeralt lips curl. "It's none of your business."

"It's blood," Byleth says at the same time.

Claude mouth opens, shuts, then opens again. "Yikes."

He closes his eyes. Maybe if he wishes hard enough, his tea will turn into alcohol and he can pretend all this was just a fever dream.

Tough luck.

"I didn't expect you to admit, well, anything," Claude says, sounding far less guarded. There's a new light in his eyes now, far more considering instead of inscrutable. "Then again, I didn't expect either of you to be looking into the church as well."

Speaking of church secrets--

Jeralt pushes himself off from where he's leaning with a groan and walks over to look down at what Byleth took. A report on an assassination on Rhea attempt caught early. A list of would-be assassins turned prisoners. The execution order of several nobles.

All of them have several names in common, mostly nobles, but only one stands out to him, both because he was a past client, and because he had the same last name as the one who adopted one of his students. All the papers are dated to four years ago.

"By," Jeralt says slowly. "What is this?"

"Proof." Despite the blank-eyed look on their face, they don't sound pleased about it, clutching at the handle of their dagger with a frown.

"Proof of what?" Because Jeralt had expected secrets about Rhea or Sitri or Byleth themselves. Not a cover-up. Especially not one about the most infamous tragedy of the decade.

"That someone assassinated Rhea. And failed."

"And that the conspirators were executed on a different claim," Claude finishes. He leans down again, chin on his folded hands. "After the regicide led to the massacre in Duscur..."

"They needed something to satiate the Kingdom's thirst for justice before it got more out of hand." Jeralt groans. He points at Byleth with his teacup. "I thought you were looking into--" He glances at Claude. Rolls his eyes. Too late to back out now. "--into your mother. Not an actual damn conspiracy."

Byleth goes to the side table and pours themselves some tea. "I did. But I also found that."

"And how does this help?"

"I want to look into it. For Ashe."

Jeralt wants to throw his hands up, and only the thought of spilling his drink stops him from doing so. "Ashe is a sweet kid, but you just met him." He shoots a thumb at Claude. "You met _this_ brat barely a week ago."

Claude shrugs, looking greatly entertained. "What can I say? The whole 'saving me from bandits' thing was a real bonding experience."

They both ignore him.

"By..."

"Do you trust me?" They ask, looking down at their tea, their thumb running idly on the rim of their cup.

_Oh, By_. "Of course I do."

"Then trust that I know what I am doing."

And... There's nothing Jeralt wants to say to counter that. He does trust Byleth. More than anything in the world. It's a parent's fear that keeps him spiraling into worry, but it's also a parent's pragmatic understanding that reminds him constantly he can't keep them tucked beside him like a child anymore.

"Alright," he sighs. "Alright."

Byleth smiles. Just a slight tilt of their lips, eyes softened into something warm.

Right. Right.

Jeralt looks away and stares instead at the spectator in their midst, looking for all the world like there's nothing more interesting than the papers he's looking at. "And you? What do you want?"

"I want in," Claude says immediately, putting the papers down.

"No."

"Hm," Byleth says at the same time.

Jeralt shoots them a look.

"He was already in Seteth's office when I found him." They shrug. "He will likely continue on his own, even if he does not join us."

"I have my own reasons," Claude says, voice turning serious. "And I know you have yours. I don't even need to know why." For now, his tone suggests. "But I think we'd all feel better if we have some allies in this little investigation of ours, yes?" He grins. "I bet the church is hiding some juicy secrets under that blood ward key you have there."

Split between the choice of giving the brat a safe space to satiate his curiosity or letting him trifle with the church on his own, the answer is obvious.

Jeralt is getting too old for this shit.

"Fine."

Claude narrows his eyes. “You don’t mind going against the monastery? The church of Seiros? The central power uniting all of Fodlan?”

Jeralt could point out that he ran away from the monastery years ago, or that even now, he avoids Rhea’s company as much as is able. Instead, he looks at the kid straight in the eye and drinks his tea.

“Got it,” Claude winks. This fucking kid. He turns to Byleth with a grin. “I like your dad.”

Byleth nods solemnly. “So do I.”

Goddess, these fucking _kids_.

“Just don't get caught,” Jeralt says, exasperated. Working on that escape route is bumped up on his to do list now that he has another kid to watch out for.

By Sothis, he needs a drink.

\--

"Awww," one of his mercenaries coo later that evening, her tankard sloshing and nearly spilling on her hand as she leans forward with a shit-eating grin. "I think the Captain's on his way to getting an empty nest syndrome. Look at him. He's _sad_." Bites, who has never feared anyone, let alone her own mercenary captain, punches Jeralt on the shoulder playfully.

It barely stings. Jeralt rolls his eyes and grunts instead of speaking, taking another swig of his ale.

"You gonna miss us, cap?" Another mercenary gasps theatrically, the action looking more menacing than it should be because of the scar on his lip that's always barring a hint of his teeth.

Bites hits _that_ merc on the shoulder with far more force than she did with Jeralt. "Don't be an idiot, Morty. I'm talking about Baby By here being all grown up, finally leading the group." She sighs, looking down at her drink. "I still remember when they'd hit people on the knee with their stick."

Byleth, sitting beside Jeralt and nursing their own tankard, turns to look at her blankly. "I have led solo missions. I have even led parts of the group when we had to divide for jobs. This is not the first."

"And now you're leading the _entire_ company for the first time!" Morty wails, somehow loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of the tavern. "You used to be so small!"

There's a shout of "Yeah!" from a table behind them, and a few groups of mercs follow the shout and bang their tankards on their own tables with heavy thunks, agreeing despite the fact that half of them were too far away to hear them.

"You remember when they used to wear their hair long?" Stanley, who Jeralt is pretty sure had only caught the tail end of that phase when she joined, reminisces.

"They used to get the captain to braid it every morning," Lazlo, the only one on the table who isn't drinking, agrees. He smiles at Byleth, tone teasing. "You'd get so huffy whenever someone else tried to do it for you."

Slowly, Byleth looks up, ignoring them all.

Jeralt pats them on the back sympathetically, resisting the urge to full-on grin. They've commandeered a section of the tavern for the night, the entire floor a merriment of shouting and singing that's probably giving the buildings from the next block over a headache.

They're a bunch of shits, but he's been with most of them for more than a decade now. If there's anyone he can trust to watch Byleth's back, it's them. Knowing By will have back-up if need be leaves him with a sense of relief he can never truly vocalize.

The fact that By will be far, far away from the monastery and its potentially dangerous and life threatening secrets and _Rhea_ certainly helps, too.

At some point, the other mercs leave their table to join card game. They're betting with shots. Jeralt will enjoy seeing them shuffle out of the monastery tomorrow morning with hangovers.

He has half a mind to join them, but after days of harried paperwork and the emotional turmoil the last few talks with Byleth has given him, he finds it kind of nice to just sit with them and just _be_.

He also has class in the morning. Dealing with teenagers that can wield pointy things or hold fire in their hands is not something he wants to do with a hangover.

"You got everything ready, right?" Jeralt says, nudging Byleth slightly with his elbow.

Byleth lists them all one by one, raising a finger for each item. "Food. Medical supplies. Weapons. Extra weapons. High morale." They turn to him, crossing their arms to peer up at him seriously. "And you have everything ready, yes?"

Amused, Jeralt indulges them. "Yeah, yeah. Got all the lessons planned, the training ground reservations settled, and the students all eager to learn after winning the mock battle."

They nod. "And you have a present for Annette?"

Jeralt blinks, wondering if he heard wrong. "No. Does she need one?"

"Her birthday is on the 9th."

Huh. Jeralt did not know that. He didn't even know he _needed_ to know that.

Byleth's gaze narrows. "You do not have a present."

"I didn't get the memo that I should, kid. I'll greet her a happy birthday or something, alright?" But, okay. Byleth's unimpressed look is making him feel slightly guilty.

"You could invite her to tea?" Byleth suggests. Then, they pause, clasping both hands around their mug. It's already half empty. "You make horrible tea. You will likely poison her--"

"Oi."

"-- and I forbid you from touching Ferdinand's tea set again. You will have to get her a present, then."

Jeralt shrugs at them. "You know I've never been big on birthdays." At some point, just watching his age tick up year by year gave him a sense of unease that never truly went away, and he stopped celebrating it altogether. The only birthday he does celebrate is Byleth's, and they only ever asked for new weapons or an entire day spent fishing with Jeralt.

"...does that mean you will not get her anything?" Their eyes widen, shoulders hiking slightly as they clutch their ale. Jeralt holds back a snort. Byleth can drag up church secrets with nary a blink but the thought of missing a another kid's birthday is enough for them to be caught off kilter.

"No," Jeralt finally says, because he has a soft heart and it's sort of nice to see Byleth care. "Of course, that'll mean I have to get the rest of the kids presents on their own birthdays. Don't want to play favorites, after all."

What does Annette even like? A book? An axe? A _magic_ axe?

A thought for later.

"Good." Byleth nods, relaxing once again. "I will list down their birthdays on your calendar before I leave."

\--

Byleth and the mercs head out the next morning, long before the sun has even climbed up the sky.

The mountain wind is cool against his face. Among the sounds of merchants setting up their wares, soldiers doing patrols on the ramparts, and a wyvern's shriek in the distance, their exchanged goodbyes barely even dent the noise.

"Stay sharp," Jeralt says. Like Byleth has never been anywhere without their sword.

"Stay safe," Byleth answers. Like Jeralt has never been anything but careful until they came to the monastery. They look up at the towering height of the reception hall building one more time, impassive and still, before heading down the stairs to where the rest of the mercs are waiting for them.

A few of the mercs call out to Jeralt in goodbye while another drags Byleth to the front of the group, chattering all the while as they all start to head off.

When they're almost out of sight, Byleth looks back.

Jeralt raises his hand, feeling a pang in his chest when Byleth nods and continues on their way. No wonder Sitri never liked saying goodbye. It's horrible. All the uncertainty threading knots in his chest, held together into something coherent only in the trust that Byleth will be safe. Unlike their other missions with the mercs, he can't even find comfort in the idea that Byleth will return because coming back meant being under Rhea's gaze once again.

He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

All this worrying is going to be the death of him.

\--

With the day still early, he finishes his breakfast in the office. Once he's done, he pulls out the folder with the training regime for the Blue Lions, skimming the notes. Remembering what By said about Annette, he makes a note on his journal to get her something later.

On a whim, he checks the calendar if any of the other Blue Lions have their birthday this month. At some point last night or this early morning, Byleth must have found the time to write it all out. There's Annette's. And apparently, Mercedes's is coming soon as well, so he should just buy their gift together. And--

He peers at the name on the calendar. Down at his student roster list. Back at the calendar.

"Who in flames is Raphael?" he mutters.

The name is settled firmly between the dates of Annette's and Mercedes's birthdays. A student, most likely, but not one Jeralt is familiar with yet.

Jeralt checks the other months. And, yep. That's more names of students outside the Blue Lions. He'll likely meet them when he teaches their classes soon, but Jeralt hadn't realized he was signing up to give _all_ the main class students a gift.

Jeralt stares at it for a long time, only reminded when the seventh bell rings that he has an hour left before his first class. He runs a hand over his face before writing down both Raphael and Mercedes's name beside Annette's as well.

Byleth never does do anything half-assed. Never let it be said that Jeralt does, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my commentary while writing:  
> \-- yall this is just claude trying to find a way to look into jeralt's office. Its canon that claude is curious as to why he left the church.  
> \-- I went to a Jesuit college and there were like these core subjects that every course had to take, no matter what course the student was taking. I imagine it's kinda the same with the monastery. I'm not an expert in teaching, tho. I just like thinking about dumb shit like that.  
> \-- Jeralt and Claude, suspicious of each other, getting ready to play 'I know you have secrets' chess: I don't trust you.  
> Byleth, knocking the entire board to the floor: So I found this conspiracy--  
> \-- Claude has joined the party! Ya really think I'll have a fic with By snooping and *not* have Claude in the picture somehow??  
> \-- Ya'll I wanted to have a scene with By sipping Jeralt's tea and going. "....this is horrible." but I didn't want to pan away from how seriously jeralt takes this dumb shit.  
> \-- Jeralt is banned from tea because that scene happened at some point and Byleth, spoiled to hell with actual well-brewed tea, was very offended.
> 
> I'm a day late. I had to redo a bunch of scenes (thanks Claude) and it was a mess jflsjdkj. I'm kinda okay-ish with how the thing came out, at least. Not perfect, but if I spend any more time on this chapter I'll riot. I'll look back and see if I made any mistakes later. Also, to those those commenters that mentioned Claude, I had to resist the urge to go, "OHOHOH. YOU'LL LIKE CHAPTER THREE THEN," when I replied to those comments. jflskdjfkj
> 
> Next chapter is Saturday or Sunday next week. It's going to be a chill chapter without Byleth there. Thanks so much for reading! I didn't expect so many of you to join me on this mess. <3
> 
> Edit: 05/14/20 OKAY i got busy with mother's day shit so the next chap will be delayed until sometime this week. Heh.


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt gets the plot rolling on his end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cussing  
> Also, uhhh, whoops.

On the morning of the first Monday of the Harpstring Moon, Jeralt enters his office, takes the folder of notes for his classes, and then leaves, ignoring the student lounging on the hallway outside, his golden cape stark against the blue of the banner he's leaning beside.

"Morning, cap," Claude says cheekily, waving.

Jeralt grunts, and then, with his free hand, takes the student by the shoulder and drags him away from his office.

"Not a morning person, I see." Claude nods, as if it makes sense, feet stumbling as he lets himself be dragged forward. "Well. I am definitely looking forward to our first class this morning. Even if all you're capable of doing at the moment is making noise through your nose."

Jeralt rolls his eyes, easing off his hold on the kid and letting him walk normally. "What were you doing there, kid?"

Claude grins, and even while looking playful, his eyes dart around. "Investigating church secrets." Unlike Byleth, who blurts out heart-stopping statements like they're announcing what they had for breakfast, Claude at least has some caution in the way he says it. It's a breath of fresh air compared to Byleth.

But that doesn't mean Jeralt likes it.

He gives him a tired glare. "Please don't say that out loud."

"So only in your office, then?"

"My office is only there for consultation."

"Right. So I can only ask there. Got it."

" _Riegan."_

Claude chuckles. "To be completely honest, I just wanted to see how you'd react." He shrugs as he flicks his braid. "It looked to me the other day that all that was not, in fact, your idea."

It was not. Not that he will ever admit it out loud. If all else fails, he can take the fall for whatever dumb shit Byleth had gotten themselves into. "Mhmm. Sure. Now will you answer my question?"

Claude smiles, all easy edges and squinted eyes. A friendly grin, all things considered.

Jeralt's seen better. The one he saw do it is probably in the Star Terrace right now, looking over her domain in her archbishop garb. Unmoved, Jeralt continues walking, crossing the small courtyard in front of the classrooms, Claude following behind him at a relaxed pace.

He peers into the Blue Lions classroom. It's still early, but Annette and Dimitri are there, sitting on their respective chairs just across from each other. Annette seems to be waving her hands, face red as she denies something Dimitri is saying. Meanwhile Dedue and Ashe converse near the fireplace at the back, slightly obscured by the chairs.

Turning to Claude, Jeralt settles his face into a stern glare, voice even enough that if someone were to hear, they'd just assume it was for class or something similar. "I can't help you if I don't know what you need, brat."

And that's what this all amounts to: help. There's a high chance the von Reigan kid will blackmail them, and just as high a chance for him to sell them out to Rhea. And, most important of all, leaving the brat to investigate on his own doesn't sit right with Jeralt.

The only student, or in this case, former student, he's known to investigate the church had been from the papers Byleth had found. Cristophe Gaspard.

Just the thought of his execution sends ice trailing down Jeralt's spine.

He puts that thought aside and leans against the doorway, staring down at Claude as he waits for an answer.

Claude stares back at him, considering gaze hidden beneath the narrowed green of his eyes. He still has that smile, that casual, relaxed pose with one arm settled against his hip. It's an ease born from years of being guarded, and Jeralt's stomach churns to see it in one as young as him.

Finally, Claude says, "I was looking for the--" And here, he holds up his hand, pointer finger and thumb curled like it's holding something the length of half a palm. The vial.

For the love of--

"You could have just _asked_." Granted, Jeralt does not, in fact, want to give the kid his blood. Byleth having it already has his paranoia racketing through the roof. In fact, does the kid even know it's _his_ blood? Now that's something he can use.

"Would you have given it to me if I had?" Claude says, leaning back on the balls of his feet.

He rolls his eyes. "Nope." When Claude frowns, Jeralt continues, "If both you and By are serious about this shit, I'd rather you two do it together. Watch each other's backs. No funny business until they come back, got it?" And Byleth won't be back for another month, something that will hopefully keep the kid out of harm's way for a while.

Claude nods, one hand over his chest. "Promise," he says, serious.

_Yeah. Right_. Jeralt knows utter bullshit when he sees it.

Whatever Jeralt wants to say is interrupted by the scrape of a chair behind them. From inside the classroom, Dimitri stands up, waving at Annette before striding towards them with a determined gaze.

"We'll continue this later," Jeralt says, squeezing his shoulder slightly before turning to greet Dimitri.

He'll come to regret it when Claude uses it as an excuse to visit his office again later, but at least he knows the brat can't get himself into ward-breaking trouble for now.

\--

"Captain Jeralt!" The voice, loud and determined, doesn't stop Jeralt in his tracks, but he does slow down to let whoever yelled catch up to him as he heads to the training grounds.

"Who's calling?" he shouts back, not looking behind him. "It better not be anything urgent. I've got a thing in five minutes." Or, more specifically, a training session with the Blue Lions. Barely halfway through the first week and they've already insisted on a second extra training session.

Whoever called runs up to him, overtaking him until she's in front and jogging backwards to face him. "Captain!"

Jeralt narrows his eyes. Bright red hair. Bright red eyes. The lean muscles of a hunter that's worked a bow for years. He saw her in the Golden Deer class as he deconstructed the mock battle with them for their tactics lessons earlier, so likely from the Alliance.

He makes a noise of understanding. "Ah. Sauin Village." Shit. Who was it? The village had plenty of people with her features. It's the charm around her neck that strikes the memory in him to life. "Pinelli?"

She brightens up. "You remembered!"

"Kind of. Pretty sure you were smaller last I checked."

"Captain Jeralt, it's been six _years_."

"Has it?" He says, both to mess with her and also because he really did forget. Time was always off once you stopped keeping track of it.

"Hahaha." Pinelli rolls her eyes, slowing down to walk beside him instead. What was her name again? L something? He heard it earlier in class, he's sure.

"Refresh my memory here. I'm an old man. You're... The one who shot that squirrel straight through the eye that one time?"

"Yes!" If anything, she looks even more excited, pleased as she beams at him. "And I mastered those lance forms you taught under a few days."

_Leonie._ That kid who impressed him enough that he offered to teach her some extra things while they had stayed in her village.

It had been a way to pass the time in between hunting down the poachers in their forest. The job had been more of a side-gig. The village couldn't pay them much, but Jeralt knew a small settlement like theirs would be devastated if left to fend the poachers off on their own. So, side-gig. A way to teach his mercs to find their target, rather than having it pointed at for them.

Byleth at 14, newly inducted into the mercenary company and still green in the art of working with a group, had spent most of it tracking down the poachers with the mercs, relentless in their pursuit at learning a new skill.

"Look at you," he says, shaking himself from the memory. "If you're here right now, then you must have gotten skilled enough to be recommended by a noble, right?"

"All thanks to everything you taught me," she says cheerfully. "I never got to thank you for it, did I? It's because of you that I wanted to become a mercenary in the first place."

"Pretty sure it was all on you, kid." Jeralt tactfully ignores that last part. "Being a mercenary isn't all sunshine and daises. Sometimes you have to work for dastards, and sometimes you outlive the friends you made along the way. But I'm guessing you already knew that when you decided to go through with it."

Leonie crosses her arms, determined. "I know what I'm getting into."

Ah. To be young, confident in your own immortality.

"Glad to hear it." Jeralt nods as they arrive at the training room doors. "Now, I gotta go. It was nice seeing you, kid."

She stops, looking uncertain before she turns to him. "One last question. How are the Blue Lions?"

"Those brats show a lot of potential. I'm looking forward to see how they'll grow." He can feel the side of his lips tilt into a small smile.

"Potential. Right." Leonie nods and pounds her fist on the palm of her hand, face set. "Well it was great seeing you again Captain Jeralt. Just watch me. I'll show you I have just as much potential as the Blue Lions. More than them, even."

Jeralt stares, bemused. "This isn't a contest, kid."

"I know it's not, but I'm still determined to be better than them. Just you wait. I'll show them I'm your first, and best apprentice!" She pumps her fist.

After living for almost 200 years, she's definitely not Jeralt's first apprentice, but he doesn't curb her enthusiasm. It's the kind of tenacity that makes him feel both old and young, nostalgic for the days when he looked at the world like a set of challenges he was determined to overcome.

"Not a contest," he repeats. "But I'm looking forward to see what you've got, Pinelli."

\--

On the day of Annette's birthday, he gives her present with the least amount of fanfare possible, calling her to stay a while before heading to choir practice with the rest of the class.

The Blue Lions file out quickly, a few giving Annette and Jeralt curious looks as they shuffle out.

"Do you need anything, captain?" she asks, one hand wrapped around her books, eyes wide with curiosity.

Perhaps other people would have done something special, like invite her to tea and give the gift then, or wrap the present before giving it away. But as Byleth had pointed out, tea was out of the question, and Jeralt was never enthusiastic about wasting things like wrapping papers that would just get thrown away later.

All he does is this.

"Happy birthday," Jeralt says, dropping the gift into her hands.

Annette catches her new quill, her mouth agape, and turns it in her hand carefully. The feather, dyed a gentle blue, curves to fit her right hand comfortably, a sharp, hollow tip at the end because Jeralt knows how to buy one of good quality, thanks.

"Is this really for me captain?" She looks up at him with shining eyes, strangely still when, usually, she's half a step away from bouncing off the walls.

"It's just a new quill, kid. But, yeah. Happy birthday," Jeralt says, shrugging. Maybe she's embarrassed? It's a good thing he had told her to stay after class, rather than give her the gift straight away when the class started. "I would've given you an actual pen, but that shit jams easily." Especially if dropped. After watching Annette trip over literally everything not nailed down in her path the past few days, he had concluded a pen likely won't last a week with her.

Pens are expensive. Except if one took it from the supply the monastery hands out to professors when they ask.

Actually, perhaps he'll give her a pen later. He'll give _each_ of the Blue Lions a pen later.

Education is very important.

"Oh, thank you so much, captain! I love it!" Annette beams, tucking the quill close to her chest.

"Good." He nods. There's a hushed hiss from outside the closed classroom doors that makes him roll his eyes. He'll have to work on their stealth at some point. Quieter, he asks, "Mercedes has her birthday in a few weeks. Know what I should give her?"

"Mercy?" Annette asks loudly before gasping, hands flying to her mouth and glaring narrow-eyed at the door. It's _now,_ that she starts to dance on her feet. Looking far more excited, she continues in a loud whisper, "She likes sweets. And, oh! Cute things like stuffed toys. And I know she's been collecting beads for her embroidery projects lately. And lavender! She loves lavender!"

"Right. Thanks," Jeralt says dryly. He does not know how to choose half of those things. There used to be this bakery with the best powdered sweets back when he was still a Knight. He'll look if it's still open. "You know what Raphael likes, too? He's from the Golden Deer. Big guy. Blonde. Almost as tall as me."

"I think I've met him. Are you giving him a gift too, captain?"

"Might as well. His birthday's next week." Flames, all the _work_ he has to do just to give these brats what they like.

Annette pouts as she thinks, before shrugging helplessly. "Sorry. I don't really know him well. I think he likes food?"

Eh. He can work with that. Just to be sure, he'll ask Claude once he sees him again. The brat has a habit of waltzing into his office nowadays. Hopefully the kid is still looking for the vial, because Jeralt kind of implied he has it when he's pretty sure Byleth had brought it with them when they left.

If Claude doesn't know that it was Jeralt's blood, then he can't insist Jeralt fill another vial. More importantly, Jeralt has an entire month to not worry over reckless kids with overly-curious minds.

Nodding, he pats Annette on the shoulder in thanks before using that hand to guide her to the closed door. "That's pretty much all I needed to ask. Hope you like the quill."

And then he yanks the door open, narrowing his eyes at the Blue Lions, all of them still idling on the courtyard. Sylvain himself lounges on the pillars supporting the building, suspiciously close to where their classroom door is while Ingrid stands beside him, looking at anywhere but Jeralt.

They're all _supposed_ to be heading off to the cathedral. Choir had been one of the requirements Jeralt had put down in his Authority classes. Manuela had experience teaching the students how to project their voices, and that was always useful in a chaotic battlefield where orders had to be heard over the clashing of steel.

At least they're watching out for each other. Jeralt can just pretend they were waiting for Annette or something.

Setting his face into a scowl, he crosses his arms. "Don't you kids have choir practice to go to? Scoot!"

Annette waves at him as they all say their goodbyes, all of them converging on her in hushed voices as they head into the reception hall where the walkway leading to the cathedral is.

\--

"My thanks for the book, captain," Dimitri says, after politely knocking on the door, waiting for Jeralt's "It's open!" and then asking permission _again_ to enter from the open doorway. It's like the kid hasn't been coming and going in his office for the past two weeks. He could barge in here with nary a knock and Jeralt wouldn't care. Claude has already done it twice this week, both times to needle him about the vial or to rile him up. The brat. "May I borrow another?"

"Sure." With a stretch, Jeralt stands up from where he's writing, his current journal open. He looks through the notebooks arranged neatly on the shelf, fingers skimming over the spines.

Thank Sothis they had been in his office rather than the library. He would have lost most of it in the fire if they had. After having lived for so long, he'd written through a lot. Almost a hundred. His own personal journals had been tucked away, but he has plenty of notes on tactics he doesn't mind sharing. Descriptions of battles and situations. Where it all went right. Where it all went wrong. All that stuff.

Dimitri would know. He's been coming in to borrow a new one every few days ever since the pre-mock battle strategy meeting. So does Annette. And Sylvain. Ingrid. _Felix,_ surprisingly. Ashe has been coming in as well, but it's more for the stories peppered in as examples. Jeralt makes sure to give that kid his more narrative-like ones. Jeralt has a feeling those brats are trading the books with each other, anyway. So long as they keep it in the classroom and not spread it around, Jeralt doesn't mind.

"You've been burning through this shit, kid." Jeralt hums as he pulls out yet another one. Old. Unrecognizable names. Unacknowledged battles. He tosses it to Dimitri, who catches it easily now, looking very pleased with himself as he does so. Dimitri places the old one he borrowed down on the table. "It's getting me kind of worried."

_Does he even sleep?_

"You have a way with words that I find remarkably captivating, captain," Dimitri says, looking through the journal carefully. "You write the situation simply, but in detail, having lived through it yourself."

Jeralt sits back on his chair and goes back to writing. "Not all of them are mine. Some are stories from old friends, or lessons someone imparted for one reason or another."

The Blue Lions's interest in books don't even surprise him. It's why he offered to let them borrow in the first place. Faerghus _loves_ its stories, new and old. Adrestia has its arts, Leicester has its crafts, and Faerghus has its literature. Not everyone knew how to read, but the Kingdom was known for its shtick for chivalry and honor for a reason. What didn't spread through books was spread through storytelling, songs, legends.

Flames, it was only decades ago that a Faerghan invented metal-block printing, a large improvement over the woodblock one most in Fodlan use. It still leaves a bitter scowl on Jeralt's face that Rhea banned it.

Still. Faerghus had the most printed books in Fodlan, even with the woodblock printing press. And with the easily available books came a slowly increasing number of people learning how to read.

It's both a bane and a boon for the church. On one hand, many of them can read through the scriptures and share the Seiros doctrine wide. On the other, it also meant there are a slow growing number of people who have _different_ interpretations of said scriptures.

There's a reason the Western Church have been butting heads with the Center Church as of late.

"A few from the other classes have been asking to borrow them." Dimitri closes the journal, careful not to let his gauntlets scratch the paper. "I was wondering if, perhaps, we can open this resource up to them as well?"

Jeralt scrunches his face. "As much as I don't mind, the last time I let my shit get spread like that, a bunch kept getting passed around and got lost." At least with the Blue Lions, he can keep track of who borrowed what. The _entire_ main class is a bigger net to handle. He already has enough on his plate with the teaching.

Interestingly, Dimitri's ears redden. Clearing his throat, he says, "Ah. Do you recall what those missing journals looked like, by any chance?"

Jeralt narrows his eyes. "Same make as the rest. Dyed brown. Belted clasp. My initials on the back. Why?"

"When you still served as a knight, did you, at some point, let other students borrow your journals as well?"

"Probably. Not a lot outside the knights knew I wrote shit down, but some students did. Mostly from Faerghus like-- wait." Don't fucking tell him. "You didn't find one in one of your libraries, did you?"

Looking away, Dimitri steeples his fingers together. "Lord Rodrigue has at least two that I may have read at some point." The red has spread to his neck now. "It was why I had asked who wrote the Tactics Primer. The sentence structure of the writing and the craftmanship of the journal was familiar."

He narrows his eyes. "Rodrigue... Fraldarius?" He has memories of a wavy-haired boy, dark hair tied up in a ponytail, as he chases around a louder, more energetic blonde, face harried.

Dimitri winces.

Oh, those _brats_.

Jeralt groans, massaging his eyes. "Tell that kid to send whatever he took back here." Fucking-- when Jeralt had said he could keep it for as long as he liked all those years ago, he hadn't meant _forever_.

"Kid?" Dimitri repeats. Almost unconsciously, Dimitri's grip on the journal tightens, lips twitching into an amused smile.

Jeralt pulls out a memory, one so long ago he had almost forgotten it. "Once, while I was brushing my horse, I saw that brat cursing up storm and pulling his hair away because his own horse was chewing on it. He ended up falling into a water trough."

Dimitri coughs into his fist, face pinched as he resists the urge to laugh. Huffing, he turns to Jeralt, expression eased into something tentatively eager. "I had forgotten. You would have still been a knight when Rodrigue was still a student."

"Yep."

"That is rather strange to imagine. You would have been--" He pauses. "Pardon me for asking, but how old are you, captain?"

"Old enough to forget, kid."

Dimitri crosses his arms as he thinks, the journal tucked between his arm and his torso. "I believe you would have been a well-established knight by the time they were students. If you were knighted young, perhaps around 50 or so? 55?"

Jeralt nods sagely. "Sure. Let's go with that."

Dimitri chuckles. "That must mean I was wrong, then. Perhaps the other knights may know."  


He snorts. "Good luck. No one's even come close."

"I will ask Rodrigue, then. He did tell me tales about you. In fact, I remember even my..." Dimitri trails off, gaze far away. Shaking his head, he smiles. "I would love to hear more stories about Rodrigue and-- and my father in their youth. If you are willing, of course. I do not want to bother you if you are busy."

Ah.

"Well..." Jeralt leans back on his chair, gesturing for Dimitri to do the same on the chair across the table, which the kid follows, sitting erect with his back straight, but eyes alight. Something lighthearted, then. Jeralt doesn't want that expression to go away. Gesturing to the general direction of the training ground, Jeralt smirks. "You ever notice how a few of the stone bricks near the training ground doors look newer than the rest?"

The rest of the afternoon is spent like that, Jeralt pulling out story after story until dinner.

\--

On the next free day of the week, Jeralt heads to the fishing grounds.

For the first time in a while, he relaxes, settling himself down on the pier and casting the line out, the hook and bait dipping down into the murky waters below. He leans back with his hand braced behind him, bare feet skimming the water where it's draped off the side of the pier. With how hectic the month has been, he _deserves_ to take it easy for a while.

Things are settling down, thank the goddess.

Byleth had just sent word that they arrived in Gautier safely, the classes are making great headway with their lessons, and no one's dumped world-shaking truths on his lap for almost two weeks.

Just _thinking_ about the last part makes him scowl. He'll have to carve out an escape plan at soon. He can't rely on another fire to be a cover this time. For one, it won't work twice. For another, he's sure the monastery has taken great lengths to ensure it won't happen again.

First, a way out. Second, a place to go _to_. Third, the means to travel there. All up in the air. Should the other mercs come with him? Will Rhea excuse the young Riegan on account of his nobility or should they bring him with them? Are there any favors he can call on? Is there somewhere they can use for a quick escape into the Oghma mountains or the lands below?

There is one place he can think of that might be viable, full of so many passageways that there's bound to be at least one that'll lead outside.

The Abyss.

He'd never tried to explore it, much rather preferring the places outside the monastery than _under_ it, but he does know at least one person that knows the place well. Now, to only find the man, if he's even still here--

Footsteps on the wooden plank brings him out of his thoughts, the sound vibrating under the hand he used to lean on the pier.

Glancing behind him, he greets Seteth with a nod before turning back to his fishing.

Seteth himself carries a bucket and rod of his own. Without the formal garb of his church robes, he looks far less high-strung than Jeralt's ever seen him. All done up in a finely embroidered blue tunic, brown pants, and vest with a neck collar. He clears his throat. "Good day to you, professor."

"Captain," he grunts.

"Jeralt," Seteth compromises. "Would you mind if I join you? The other piers are... occupied at the moment."

Jeralt looks. There are a bunch of piers bracketing the lake. One is full of students. Another has a lone student sleeping on the docks, body slumped forward even though they're clutching a rod. Another has two knights conversing with each other. The last has kitchen staffers fishing, already on their second bucket of fish.

"Sure. Knock yourself out." Jeralt scooches over to give him room.

Seteth settles beside him and removes his leathered boots, rolling up his pants and mirroring Jeralt. He lets his feet dangle over the water, skimming against the surface. With a contented sigh, pulls out his fishing rod and lowers the hook under the water.

"No bait?" Jeralt asks, raising a brow.  


"While I enjoy the act of fishing, I have never learned how to choose which bait to use, or even how to place it on the hook itself."

"Pretty sure the point of fishing is, you know, catching the fish." With a roll of his eyes, Jeralt gestures for the man to pull back his fishing rod. "Come on-- give it here. I'll let you use some of my bait."

Seteth huffs, though he doesn't sound annoyed. Amused, rather. He hands Jeralt his fishing rod, waiting patiently as Jeralt hooks a new bait for him. "The habit soothes me," he says as he watches. "I learned to fish by joining my wife. She would bait the line herself before handing me the rod. I never bothered to observe the process, and so I never learned."

"Fair enough." Jeralt doesn't ask where she is. The far-away look on Seteth's face says it all. He hands back the rod and goes back to his own fishing. "Sitri used to join me when I went fishing as well. She wasn't really into it, but she'd bring a book to read and afterwards, she'd cook whatever I caught."

"Not a fan of cooking, I take it?"

"Nah. More like I'd grill the fish over a fire and be done with it. Sitri was the one who liked to do all the spices and seasoning. I only learned how once Byleth came into the picture."

Humming, Seteth straightens, looking over at the lake with his hands clasped around his fishing rod.

"From what I gather, you and your wife met at the monastery, yes?"

"Rhea didn't tell you?" Rhea and Sitri had been close. A strange thing to consider, seeing as, from what he had been told, Sitri had just appeared one day. Jeralt had been away on a year-long mission and came back to a new nun that looked almost like Rhea, being doted on by said woman.

"She did. She also mentioned you are an old friend. Though the reason as to why you left was only briefly explained. I am sorry for your loss."

Whether it was for the baby that 'died' in the fire, or Sitri herself, Jeralt acknowledges the sympathy given. "Same to you. I just... couldn't take it anymore when I realized the monastery would always remind me of what I lost." Jeralt lets a kernel of truth leak out in his words. It had been unfair to literally everyone else he's made friends with at the monastery, but most had been understanding.

They just... didn't know it was only half the reason.

Seteth nods, falling silent as something catches on Jeralt's line.

Jeralt grins as he reels it in, detaches his first fish of the afternoon, and throws it into the bucket. The hook is baited and dropped into the water again. Ah. Hearing the flopping in the bucket is always satisfying.

Back to the conversation. "I've known Rhea for a long time," Jeralt says, not so subtly changing the subject. "When did you two meet?"

"Years and years ago. I met Lady Rhea long before you did, I would wager." Seteth emphasizes the _Lady_ part, though from the exasperated tone of his voice, he can tell it's a lost cause.

Jeralt side eyes him, one brow raised. "Seteth. A _long_ time. Unless you're implying what I think you're implying."

"I will not take back what I said."

And if Jeralt, who has known Rhea for almost two centuries, doesn't know the man, then that means Seteth is older, having known her for longer. But unlike Jeralt, who ages slowly like a cliffside that weathered from the waves constantly battering on its face, Seteth looks... young. Mid 30s, perhaps. Just like Rhea, whose face hasn't changed in all the time he's known her.

Jeralt lets that curiosity slide off him. He had never bothered Rhea about her eternal youthfulness, and he won't bother Seteth either. That is a secret he doesn't care about. Is his sister the same way? If so, yikes. Jeralt does not want to be stuck as young adult for that long.

Something relaxes in Seteth's stance when nothing follows that statement. "Whatever the case, Lady Rhea bestowed upon you a gift she only shares rarely. For that, you have earned part of my trust. The rest... Well, we shall see."

He doesn't know what to say to that when Rhea already lost _his_ trust two decades ago. Instead, Jeralt grunts, waving the statement off with a shrug.

Seteth seems to accept the response and continues, "To be frank, it is partly why I insisted on hiring you. Despite the great fire before you left, some of your old reports still survived, and I managed to discern your age and confront Lady Rhea before we welcomed you." A catch. Seteth reels it in.

"If you've known her longer than I have, I'd have expected both of you to be close enough to share that at least."

The fish Seteth unhooks nearly slips from his hand. His jaw sets, stiff, before he sighs, looking tired as he drops the fish into his bucket. "Perhaps the years--" Or, more likely _, centuries_. "-- spent apart has strained our relationship. She does not share everything with me, nowadays."

"You have the time to build it up again, I guess." Jeralt does as well, but he's a tired, angry grump that can't look at Rhea without seeing the utter despair on her face when she had told him Sitri died, or the feverish yet calculated longing in her eyes whenever she had looked at Byleth in the weeks after.

Ice meets spine. Fear mixed in with tired fury. Jeralt sighs. The line of his fishing rod pulls, and he reels it in on automatic, unlatching the fish, putting in a new bait, and letting the hook fly again. His heart isn't in this shit anymore.

He's supposed to be relaxing, but he might as well get shit done while Seteth's here. "Speaking of old friends, is a priest named Aelfric still here?"

If there's anyone who knows of a route out through the Abyss, it'll be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got busy with mother's day and couldn't write. And then I got hit by writer's block directly after. Fun times. (Also I may have gotten distracted by reading like a ton of Fire Emblem Fates and Awakening fanfics. All that timetravel child shit is wack.)  
> Some notes:  
> \--Claude: I will endear myself to him by imitating Byleth and acting like a reckless fool  
> \-- Dimitri and Annette support scenes are cute and I desperately want them to be found family siblings.  
> \-- Leonie doesn't just have Byleth to contend with, now she's gotta measure herself up with ALL the Blue Lions.  
> \-- Jeralt's like two centuries old or something. He's gotta have a hobby outside of fishing and poking people with a sharp stick my dudes. Let the old man have his books.  
> \-- I can't remember much, but from what I've noticed, a lot of the books the characters talk about where from Faerghus. Or maybe I just hear Ashe talk a lot about loog and the maiden wind or something. And then I remembered Jeralt was into journaling. And the Western church breaking apart sorta reminded me of Protestant Reformation a lil. I connected it (I didn't connect _shit_ but lemme have fun here). Don't think I'm an expert, a lot of that shit was complicated. Idk. Jsldkfj. Just thought it'd be nice if Faerghus had a literature boom. Also like, there's gotta be a reason why the School of Sorcery is in Faerghus when Adrestia is the one known for its magic, so maybe Faerghus has the best book making shit for tomes and whatever.  
> \-- It's canon that Rhea blocked metal-block printing, Rhea w h y  
> \-- Me, frantically hiding my worldbuilding toys: I DIDN'T MEAN TO DO IT I'M SORRY  
> \-- Can ya'll believe the reason it took so long was because I had to rewrite the Seteth talk like so many times??  
> \-- Sorry Leonie I snatched that support scene with seteth right out from under you but it just fit him and Jeralt so _well_
> 
> Thanks for being patient! And so sorry for the long delay! Hopefully I'll try and see if I can get the weekly updates back.


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact that the goddess's image is looking down benevolently at them while they’re planning to send kids out to fight feels morbidly funnier than it should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some cusses. Mentions of the Tragedy of Duscur.

Jeralt freely admits he worries about a lot of things: Byleth. The financial upkeep for his mercenary band. Rhea and everything involving her. Byleth. The mess that was the Kingdom of Faerghus since the King died. And did he already mention his one and only kid, Byleth?

Now, he can add the Blue Lions to the mix because--

"Bandits?" he says, incredulous. "Their first mission is to put down _bandits_?"

His tone makes Seteth twitch. It's only Rhea holding up a hand that protects Jeralt from what might have been a very strongly worded rant that would have forced him to stay longer in the same damn room as her.

"I understand that you have concerns, but you will have the Knights of Seiros watching over them as well." Rhea clasps her hands in front of her. "We do still prioritize the safety of our students, after all."

"With all due respect, Lady Rhea." Jeralt crosses his arms. "But last I remember, students aren't meant to take these kind missions until a few more months into their schooling." Sometimes, they don't even get out of the monastery at all except for the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion. Jeralt would know. He had _been there_ when the academy was founded almost 200 years ago. The logistics of his first time planning the security for noble brats staying in the monastery for almost a year round still gives him nightmares.

Rhea closes her eyes. When she opens them again, her gaze is hard. "Circumstances have changed, Jeralt. Fodlan has slowly declined over the years. Political instability threatens both Faerghus and Adrestia. Wild beasts run rampant around Leicester. Bandits attacks have gradually risen in number. As a mercenary, I imagine you have first-hand experience of these changes."

And the thing is, Jeralt has. Turmoil like that was lucrative for a mercenary like him. But that doesn't mean he finds the slow growing chaos _good_. Things have steadily been getting worse for a while now, and it reminds him of the aggressive border raids the Almyrians had instigated decades ago that led to the founding of the officer's academy in the first place. Except this time, there was no foreign power. Merely Fodlan, tearing itself apart once more.

"We must prepare the students for any strife these trying times will cost them," Rhea continues solemnly. "We must show them the church is trying its best to resolve these issues. That they may not sin and further these travesties." _Or they will face the church's wrath._

He presses his lips into a frown. "When did this start?" he asks, tilting his head to look up at the mosaic of Sothis on the large window of the reception hall. He doesn't want to look at Rhea. Doesn't want to think about the woman that had once happily opened her doors to kids so that they can prepare for war in a safer environment rather than have them experience their first battles in raids that will most likely take their life if they weren't lucky.

_What would she think about them throwing kids into battles now?_

The fact that the goddess's image is looking down benevolently at them while they’re planning to send kids out to fight feels morbidly funnier than it should.

"Only a few years ago," Seteth answers for her.

A few years ago. The only big church thing that happened a few years ago had been the church's executions of the people suspected behind the Tragedy of Duscur. And one of them had been a previous student.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and making sure his hand covers his scowl. Striking fear of the church into the students early on now, huh?

"Alright," he finally says, looking up. It's not like he can say his suspicions out loud. "When are we expected to go?"

"Once our scouts have ascertained where the bandits have made camp, you and your students, as well as a retinue of knights, will be sent to eliminate them."

Jeralt nods, not at all disguising how uneasy it all makes him.

Seteth nods back, a tired grimace on his face. "It gives me no joy sending children off to danger, but I have complete faith in both yours and the Knights of Seiros's ability to protect them if need be."

Great. It's one thing leading elite-trained knights or hardened mercenaries into battle, but students only just finding their footing in a battlefield will be a pain to watch over.

Jeralt takes in the worries bubbling up within him. Puts it aside. Places 'get the kids more teamwork training' up the priority list. He'll worry circles around his office floor later. Compartmentalizing, he's learned over the last two centuries, is the best way to get things done.

Flames. He'll never be able to live with himself if any of those brats died under his watch.

More details are hashed out. The most likely date is at the end of the month. Hopefully, at that point, the Blue Lions will be familiar with each other enough to fight comfortably together.

Rhea dismisses him, pausing briefly at the end of her goodbye. "Jeralt," she calls out, voice even. "I have missed our talks terribly. With both our schedules busy, we have not had the time to catch up, as it were."

Some part of him still misses the Rhea that he had served for most of his life. Most of him still fears the day she will take Byleth away from him.

Jeralt pretends he doesn't feel the hair on the back of his arms stand on end and answers her. "Sure," he says. "The next time we're not busy or whatever, we'll talk." Who knows? Maybe the years have softened her enough that she can finally answer his questions.

A fool's hope.

He nods again, this time in goodbye, and leaves the hall before any more words are exchanged. The doors doesn't immediately close behind him, and another person slips through the doorway. A set of familiar and brisk footsteps follow him to the stairs.

"Ah, Jeralt. A word?" Seteth says as he catches up to him easily.

Jeralt rolls his wrist absentmindedly, willing the feeling of ice in his veins to go away. "Anything you need, Seteth?"

"You mentioned looking for an Aelfric the other day, correct? I do believe I remember where he's assigned now."

\--

As the next week of classes start, Jeralt ups the ante of his lessons, emphasizing team cohesion and of predicting your ally's actions just as much as your enemy's. In the training grounds, he focuses on improving the Blue Lions's skills at their best weapons, knowing he doesn't have the time to teach anything new outside them at the moment. The students, for their part, take his lessons seriously. Even they acknowledge that his battle experience is worth ages over most of the people they know.

It doesn't help Jeralt's thoughts that the other classes will have their first mission outside the monastery as well, but at the very least, their missions don't sound as dangerous as hunting down bandits.

(Fucking _bandits_. Maybe he'll get Alois and see if he can get some Knights to do practice battles with them. Preferably, the Knights to be assigned as his class's retinue so that he can assess them as well.)

The Golden Deer have to escort a merchant to Adrestia. The Black Eagles need to deliver relief supplies to a village suffering through a lean year in their fields. Hanneman and Manuela can defend them if need be, and at least _they_ aren't assigned to look for trouble like the Blue Lions are.

Then, there's the thing with Aelfric.

Jeralt is both dismayed and relieved to learn he's out on an outreach program in the Faerghus at the moment. He'd explore the Abyss on his own, but with his schedule as a professor and the sheer _size_ the Abyss boasts, it's probably best to ask someone he both trusts and actually knows the area.

Once, a long time ago, he had to fish out a young man from the bowels of Garreg Mach. It had not been called the Abyss yet, but it certainly deserved the name from the sheer endlessness of its dark and unmapped tunnels. It was not the job of a knight captain to look for a lost church apostle, but Jeralt had volunteered for it anyway. Traversing the eerily quiet tunnels had not been fun, but there had been very little Jeralt wouldn't do for a friend.

"What in flames were you even doing down there, Aelfric?" Jeralt had said after he finally found the man, exasperation, annoyance, and concern all rolled into an unimpressed glare.

Aelfric had shaken his head, smiling bashfully. "I was merely curious. The ancient ruins under the monastery is rarely used, after all. To think that such a large space was left abandoned is disquieting."

Being a head taller, Jeralt had looked down at him, raising a brow.

"...and perhaps I wanted a story to tell Sitri, as well."

There it was.

Jeralt had snorted. "You know she'd be just as happy if you just spend time with her, yeah? You don't need to explore some old dusty catacombs to make her smile."

"I suppose." Aelfric had looked away, clasping his hands in front of him. "She always seems so happy whenever you tell her stories of your travels. I just wanted to see if I can bring her that joy as well. I may not be able to travel far as you can, but the buried tunnels beneath the monastery is a place in which I have the power and means to traverse."

And that had been that.

Aelfric hadn't stopped exploring, and Sitri had loved his stories of glowing stones inlaid in walls and marked floor patterns of a culture lost to time and dust. And after she died, his knowledge had proved invaluable for hiding Byleth during the fire. Knowing Aelfric, he had probably continued exploring the depths of Abyss even after Jeralt and Byleth had left.

The whole 'in charge of an underground town' is new, but Aelfric had always bemoaned the unused space that sprawled underneath the monastery. Jeralt's kind of glad to know he's doing well. When Aelfric finally comes back from his mission, Jeralt's looking forward to seeing the project he's spent the past few years working on.

\--

Jeralt isn't what he would call 'stingy' with money, but after years of carefully budgeting the expenses of his merc band, he's come to appreciate things he can get on his own for free.

That's why he wakes up early on his next free day, readying a bow and a lance to hunt for Raphael's gift. The biggest game he can find. And probably a meal or two for himself as well while he's at it.

He should not have underestimated his students, though.

Walking past the training grounds puts him in Felix's eyesight and a demand to join him on his hunt. Dimitri and Dedue, who were both _also_ already awake and training, had asked to accompany him as well.

Having three of his eight Blue Lion students join him on his hunt really puts into mind what a dedicated bunch he decided to teach.

Then, when he walks past the market place with the three boys in tow, their weapons and supplies ready, they come across Ashe and a kid from Brigid with a half crescent tattoo under her eye that he remembers seeing from the Black Eagles class. 

"You will be going hunting?" She-- Petra, he remembered her name was -- asks, perking up more than he's ever seen her do in his tactics class. "I would be most pleased if you will be letting me join, professor." Ashe elbows her. "Oh, captain! I am meaning captain!"

Ach. He already has to watch over three kids. Why not make it five?

"Fine," Jeralt says, making himself comfortable on one of the barrels decorated around the marketplace "We'll wait here while you two get your stuff."

Ashe points at himself, "I get to come, too? Are you sure, captain? Lonato only took me hunting once..." he trails off, looking uncertain.

"You're our best archer," Felix cuts in, a scowl on his face. "What makes you think we don't want you with us?"

Ashe beams, flushing. A lesser man would have been blinded. Felix just looks away.

While Petra and Ashe rush to their rooms to change into more appropriate attires and to grab their weapons and bags, Leonie appears, bow and rucksack already in hand.

"I heard you were going hunting, Captain Jeralt." She grins. Which, fine. Jeralt has, at that point, already lost control of his day anyway.

Once all six of them have finally gathered, Jeralt narrows his eyes, head swerving from one point of the marketplace to another just in case.

"Are we missing anyone, captain?" Dedue asks. He's carrying both his hunting supplies and Dimitri's, despite Dimitri's best efforts to convince him otherwise.

"Flames, I hope not. I'm just looking for Claude." Or literally any other student that's decided to monopolize his hunt today. When no brat comes out of the woodwork after a whole minute of glaring at every barrel a student might pop up from, Jeralt nods to himself and gestures for them to follow.

As they walk out the gates of Garreg Mach, the students fall into a cluster behind him. Jeralt is strangely reminded of ducklings.

"Are there any objectives on our hunt today, captain?" Dimitri asks, striding forward to walk beside him.

Jeralt's objective had been to hunt for a gift and maybe enjoy a fire-grilled meal right after. With the students here, he might as well do that _and_ see how good they are at hunting for their own meal.

"The lot of you--" Jeralt points at each of them. "-- are going to catch at least one thing. If you have questions, feel free to ask me. Or Leonie. Oh, Petra, right?"

"Captain?"

"From what I remember, Brigid is big on hunting, yeah?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then you all can ask Petra here questions too, if you want."

Felix huffs. "We've all hunted before."

"For lessons, not for a living," Jeralt points out, making Felix nod thoughtfully. "I'll let you all run wild in the forest when we get there. Just don't stray too far. Make sure you're at least close enough to hear each other."

Petra waves her hand to get their attention "Brigid has, there is a word... a mouth blowing sound?"

"Whistling?" Ashe suggests.

"Ah, yes. Whistling! Brigid has whistling sounds that our hunters make to talk far distances. I would be very happy to teach you all, as you will be my hunting companions." Petra grins up at him, looking eager.

Jeralt shrugs. "Sure, why not? We can learn while we walk."

"Since you're the one who's leading this hunt, does that mean you plan on cooking later or something?" Leonie asks.

"Nah. Well. Sort of. I need to hunt some meat for Raphael's birthday." Getting permission to hunt in the forest had been easy. Despite Seteth's stern countenance, he was surprisingly lenient when Jeralt had explained his reasons. Hunting permits were a pain and a half to get otherwise.

"Raphael?" Leonie blinks. "Why would..? I mean, that's great! It's just..."

Jeralt shrugs. "Why not?" Of course, Jeralt had almost the same reaction when Byleth dumped that responsibility on him, but there wasn't anything malicious about doing what they asked. "By told me I should, anyway. I think they like you kids."

"Byleth does?" Dimitri asks, hands clasping and unclasping around his spear, the only thing Dedue had let him carry. "That is heartening to hear. Pardon my rudeness, but I find it hard to discern what is in their mind, sometimes." He reaches up, almost touching his hair, before flushing and pulling down his hand. Pffft. Jeralt can't wait to tell Byleth that Dimitri still thinks about it.

Jeralt snorts, amused. "They got it from me, probably."

"Your expressions are hard to read, at times," Dimitri muses.

"Your default look is also perpetually grumpy. Like you're annoyed at the world for waking you up," Leonie points out, smirking when Jeralt shoots her an unimpressed look.

"Is that why you gave Annette a gift the other week?" Felix suddenly asks, looking at him intensely.

Ashe makes an 'oh' sound. "I remember! That was nice of you, captain. Annette loves her new quill. She's been real careful with it." He pauses. "Does that mean we'll be getting gifts on our birthdays too?"

Jeralt scratches his beard. Not like he ever planned on keeping it a secret. "Yep. Got your birthdates in my calendar and everything."

Crap. They're giving him _looks_. Is it the presents? Are they looking forward to the _presents_? Sothis damnit, he's given them expectations. Jeralt can never take back his words now, even if he wants to.

Thankfully, he doesn't.

Disappointing brats is, apparently, one of his weaknesses now.

"Yeah, yeah," Jeralt says, waving the whole conversation away. "Why don't you teach us the basics of that whistling thing, Petra? It'll be a while 'til we reach the hunting grounds."

"Oh, of course!" Petra claps her hands and then brings her fingers near her lips in preparation. "We shall be beginning with the basics. This is the pattern for..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it is I! I am still living! I have no excuse except that I got into FE: Heroes for a while and got curious about some of the characters. I haven't read a FE3H fic in like a while (a lot of my favorite fics have updated and they're just... sitting in my inbox for now) cuz I got into Awakening and Fates fanfics (Fanfic writers that can write out a story that I can understand even without playing the games are a GIFT). My favorite is Henry and that probably says a lot about me as a person... (He makes _puns_. They're so stupid I love it.) Not to mention I just learned Hamefura has an anime now! Aaaaa.
> 
> Comments:  
> \-- I remember Balthus mentioning that they rarely went out when he was still in the monastery. I think it was in the battle of the lion and the eagle part? Lsdkjf Somewhere along those lines.  
> \-- I hc that Jeralt and Rhea were good friends before. Like, Jeralt's been alive for a LONG time, and I bet she liked that stability. Especially with Flayn, Seteth and her other sibs asleep for a long time.  
> \-- It's canon that the monastery was established cuz of the Almyrian raids like almost 200 or so years before the game. Jeralt's over that shit already but is probably annoyed as fuck that Fodlan (being Fodlan) is still racist against them.  
> \-- Rhea: So can we talk?  
> Jeralt: Haha, sure *leaves immediately before they can make any plans*  
> \-- When I read that Jeralt left Byleth on a tree to hide them I was like. Jeralt. Jeralt what the fuck do u know how wriggly babies are sometimes.  
> \-- Ya'll. Okay. Aelfric is still in the 'friend' category in Jeralt's head. Like. "Trusted friend" category, since he helped keep Byleth safe and that's like +++friendship points in Jeralt's head.  
> \-- Me, remembering that Aelfric started the Abyss and the Ashen Wolves long before he found Sitri and the chalice: "Ah. He is "Fallen Hero" then."  
> \-- A scene I wanted to add but couldn't:
> 
> "We're using the maps today!" Sylvain cheers as he slams open the classroom with his foot, his arms full of at least three rolled up maps from Jeralt's office. 
> 
> Jeralt can already feel a headache coming on, his own hands carrying the container of colored rocks he had used back when they were planning for the mock battle. "I am not letting you brats stay up late like last time."
> 
> "Maybe we should get some snacks ready, in case we end up going past dinner again," Annette says, already pulling out what seems to be a small bag of treats.
> 
> "That's a great idea! I wonder if we can take the meals from the dining hall here? Didn't Byleth do it last time..." Ingrid trails off.
> 
> "I can make a request with the kitchen staff, if everyone is amenable," Dimitri offers as he rolls out one of the maps on the table without prompting.
> 
> Jeralt sighs, hiding a wry smile that's trying to escape from his lips. "None of you are listening to me."
> 
> \-- Felix and Ashe's supports were one of my faves, tbh. Ashe is such a lil shit that completely blindsided Felix with OPTIMISM and ADMIRATION while Felix was being real mean and it gave me LIFE.  
> \-- Dimitri is not over the headpats. Neither am I.  
> \-- I want Byleth back at some point because they're such fun to write with Jeralt, but it won't be for a chap or two yet. :/ Stupid outline.  
> \-- Also another scene I couldn't add but wanted to:
> 
> Leonie furrows her brows. "The captain gave you all pens? Aren't they expensive?"
> 
> "Education is very important, kid," Jeralt says solemnly.
> 
> \--
> 
> ANYWAY, thanks for being patient and also reading! This is shorter than my usual 3K or more chaps (It's like. 2.9K), but I figured a short chapter was better than no chapter. I really wanna try updating weekly, but we'll see if I can do it next week. And hmmm. I should add a tag that this shit has slow ass pacing, gdi. Also! We finally got the joycon drifting on our Switch fixed!! I can continue my maddening mode playthrough again! Hopefully, that'll get me back into the 3H groove.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, okay? <3


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt watches him go, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose.  
>    
> "It's too early for this shit," he tells the air, before continuing on to his path back into the monastery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: For some minor cussing.

The morning of Mercedes's birthday, Jeralt finds himself in the marketplace again.

Baked goods were best eaten while still hot, and Jeralt is pleased to find that the bakery he used to frequent as a knight is still open. He's glad it's still going strong. He's pretty sure it's almost as old as he is, which is saying something.

Hand heavy with a bag of sweets for Mercedes, and his other hand stuffing a meatbun in his mouth, Jeralt is ready to head back to the monastery.

He still has a gift to give, lessons to prepare for, and probably a Dimitri to shoo out of the training grounds for breakfast. Apparently, this is his life now, but he has always been good at adapting

He's still wondering whether he should stop by the training grounds first before heading to the dining hall when someone steps in front of him, halting his stroll. The man that stopped him carries a small wrapped box in one hand while his other hand clutches the pommel of his sheathed sword with a clenched fist. How ominous.

Jeralt eyes it with one brow raised and takes another bite of his meatbun. The man's fingers flex, agitated, but not _hostile._ Just close to it.

Good. Jeralt has no time for a fight this early in the morning.

There's only one man in the monastery that wears a mask anyway, and Jeralt's pretty sure it's against the rules to pick a fight with another professor out of the sparring rink.

"Jeritza," he greets.

"Jeralt," the man greets back in a far too morose tone this early in the morning. His voice sounds more like a low hum, but from what Jeralt's learned, his voice is just always like that.

He's never had any reason to talk to Jeritza often outside of lessons. Other than sending Felix to the man to improve the kid's swordwork, they've never exchanged anything more than a nod and lesson plans, though he has seen Jeritza stare at him once or twice.

The silence is awkward. Normally, Jeralt won't care, but Mercedes's gift is best eaten when fresh.

"Need anything?" Jeralt asks pointedly.

Jeritza squeezes his pommel again, and Jeralt is reminded of Byleth's habit of doing the same thing with the dagger strapped to their waist.

"Here." Jeritza shoves a wrapped box forward, scowling. It's the size of two fists pressed together, wrapped in brown paper and a simple ribbon colored dark red.

Jeralt stares at it like he's poisoned before he slowly, carefully, takes it with the same hand carrying the bag of sweets. "And what's this for?"

"For Mercedes," he grunts.

Jeralt narrows his eyes. He's pretty sure Mercedes is older than Jeritza, but there's still a difference in their stations that should be accounted for. Also, the monastery has _rules_ against student-teacher relationships. They basically amount to _No_ and _Flames, No_. "Is this a young love sort of thing? Because I'm going to have _words_ about you courting a student." And a fist, if need be.

Jeritza flinches back as if physically burned. "No! I would never--" He clamps his lips shut, mouth curling into a disgusted glower.

He looks so horrified that it makes Jeralt snort into a chuckle.

Nothing romantic then.

"A gift as her... Professor?" Because Jeralt is kind of doing that. Except he's pretty sure Mercedes has never held a sword in her life, and so has never had a reason to be in the same vicinity as Jeritza, much less his tutelage.

"Yes," Jeritza says through gritted teeth, which means it is definitely not.

Jeralt stares at the tense line of his shoulders. Jeritza's ponytail is draped over it, and the color is suspiciously familiar, though with the mask, he can't be too sure. Anyway, even if the hair color's the same as Mercedes's, it isn't enough evidence to prove his suspicions.

"You could just give it to her yourself," he points out.

"No." Jeritza says. Apparently having fulfilled his daily word quota for the day, Jeritza swivels back up the stairs and glides away without saying goodbye.

Jeralt watches him go, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose.

"It's too early for this shit," he tells the air, before continuing on to his path back into the monastery.

\--

When Jeralt had given Raphael his gift – boar meat cooked and spiced by the kitchens, because Jeralt can cook a meal but not a _birthday_ meal -- the boy had made a big deal out of it.

There had been no covering Raphael’s loud, "IS THIS FOR ME? THANK YOU, CAPTAIN!" and the following hug that Raphael had given him in the middle of the dining hall.

Jeralt bore the overly emotional reaction with a grunt and an awkward pat. He's pretty sure he spent the rest of the day being stared at by the staff and student body alike.

In contrast, Mercedes receives her gift of treats with a pleased smile and a gentle thanks, with none of the fanfare that would bring attention to it in the middle of the dining hall, thank the goddess.

From what he recalls from the student profiles, Mercedes is probably 23 by now. Even older than Byleth, now that he thinks about it.

Speaking of her birthday,

Jeralt hands over the box he had been given earlier. "From Professor Jeritza."

Mercedes takes it with a puzzled frown, turning the gift around in her hand.

"Do you know him, kid?" he asks, watching her finger the ribbon. Her lips purse, but she doesn’t look uncomfortable, just troubled.

She shakes her head, looking a little unsure. "He looks familiar, though. Maybe we've met before? I used to live in the Empire, you see, before my mother and I had to move to Faerghus. Perhaps I saw him once when I was a child?"

"Maybe," he says dubiously. "Do you want me to ask him about it? Or do you want to ask him yourself?"

"I can do it myself, Captain." She smiles, and while she still looks a little troubled by the whole thing, she tucks the gift into her bag, likely planning to open it later.

He has no doubt she can pry the truth out from Jeritza. She's the oldest of the Blue Lions, and she had a way of just making the younger ones feel guilty with a sweet smile on her face.

Jeralt makes a mental note to keep an eye on Jeritza anyway.

Looking like she's firmly pushing the incident out of her mind, Mercedes says, "Oh. Would you like to eat breakfast with me, Captain?"

Since it's her birthday, Jeralt answers by slipping into the bench across her. "Already ate, but sure." He nods at his gift, where Mercedes is already pulling the package open to share. "That came from the bakery down by the town plaza. The one with the blue sign. Ever tried it?"

Mercedes picks up the topic immediately, cheerfully telling him about how fluffy the sweet tastes before continuing on to her hobby of baking.

Jeralt's not known for being talkative. In fact, he can comfortably spend several hours in silence, letting other people talk for him. He knows from experience that with the right prodding, people can talk for hours about something they like.

They come out of the conversation happy and listened to, while Jeralt comes out of the conversation only saying less than 20 words.

A win-win.

It's not long before another student walks towards them, carrying her own tray of breakfast. "Mercy! Captain Jeralt!"

Jeralt's eyes flick to the side and nods at an approaching Annette. "Morning, kid."

"Good morning!" She turns to Mercedes as she walks around the table to sit beside her. "Happy birthday, Mercy! Here, I got you this." And then she hands her a roll of embroidery threads that Mercedes coos at.

With the presence of Annette, the table turns livelier, the air filling with their chatter.

In 15 minutes, more people start sitting at their table.

Dedue comes by and greets Mercedes with a smile before sitting down for his own meal. Ashe hurries out of the kitchens right after, wearing an apron and giving an extra cupcake before sprinting back to help with the kitchen rush. He comes back after a few minutes sans apron but with a streak of flour still on his cheek. Sylvain greets her warmly and, surprisingly, with none of the flirting Jeralt expects from the kid.

Ingrid comes to the table with a freshly-dressed Dimitri, who Jeralt had kicked out of the training hall earlier, and a Felix stubbornly ignoring said Dimitri while he strides from Ingrid's other side, completing the entire class of Blue Lions.

Do they do this every breakfast? Jeralt wouldn’t know since he tends to spend his mornings alone with Byleth away. Now that he thinks about it, this is the first time Byleth has been away for more than a month. The missions in which they were separated weren’t many, and the ones that were only lasted a week or two.

_How was their mission going? Have they been eating? Did they get_ hurt _?_

Jeralt taps his fingers on the table restlessly.

Ah, crap. He’s missing his kid, isn’t he?

In between talking, Dedue hands him an apple. With nothing else to do and his head too full of thoughts, he uses one of the knives he has in his person to slice it up, eating the pieces to have an excuse not to talk.

Their table becomes the loudest one in the dining hall. It brings into mind those times in which he spent time with the his own mercs, gathered around the campfire and giving each other shit for one thing or another. Jeralt feels a smile twitch on his lips, and he coughs into his hand to wipe it off.

Byleth will be fine. They have the rest of the mercs to watch over them. He has enough faith in his mercs' skills, as well as Byleth’s, to trust that they’ll come back.

Jeralt turns back to the table after finishing his apple. Felix has migrated to sitting beside Sylvain, and looking like he severely regrets doing so as Sylvain leans his arm on Felix’s shoulder, regaling him about a girl he met yesterday. Ingrid and Ashe have bent together over a book between them, their food forgotten. Meanwhile, Dimitri is listening avidly to a discussion between Annette and Mercedes about a stitching technique a tailor had told Mercedes of the other day, looking both fascinated and horrified. Dedue isn’t talking to anyone, but he looks just as content as Jeralt as he basks in the easy atmosphere of the group while he eats his meal.

Their table is a cacophony of noise, and the whole time, Mercedes beams like it's the best thing she could have asked for.

\--

"In the spirit of saving you the hassle--" Claude starts, opening the door to Jeralt's office so casually that one would assume he owns the room. "-- I would love some flasks for my brewing station. Of course, my birthday's still two months away, so you'll have plenty of time to buy me a gift by then."

Jeralt, now used to Claude's regular interruptions, grunts, frowning down at the essay he's grading. He had encouraged his students to draw diagrams if they wanted to clarify what they couldn’t explain with just words, and Sylvain, in his infinite wisdom, had drawn his diagram large enough to fill most of the paper, with only a small spot left to fill in a single paragraph for the essay. What a little shit. Jeralt's so proud.

"Or..." Claude continues. "...you could just hand over that vial blood ward key thing now as an advanced birthday present. I'm not picky."

"No."

Claude shrugs, well used to his refusals by now, and turns to browse the books on Jeralt's shelf. "Worth a try. Hey, Cap, you think I can borrow one of those journals the Blue Lions keep reading? They're kind of bad at keeping it a secret."

They are. Jeralt hadn't even told them to keep it a secret, but the Lions can be territorial when they realize something's exclusive only to them. Sothis bless them for at least trying.

"Just let me think about it." He flicks the hand still holding the pen in a ‘go on’ gesture, giving him permission. "I've been planning to for a while, but I haven't got the time to think of a system that'll keep me from losing them like the last time I let my shit get borrowed."

"Oh?" Claude pulls off the books from the shelf in sets, not even bothering to hide that he's looking at the spaces behind them. Nothing's behind there but dust and lost quills. "What happened last time?"

"The journals kept getting passed around until I lost track of who had what." Thank you, Dimitri, for pointing at where at least two of the lost journals had ended up. He's going to give that Rodrigue brat a piece of his mind when he sees him again. His journals were important to him, damnit, both the personal ones and the tactics ones. The only reason he hadn’t brought them with him when he first left the monastery years ago was because there had been too many to carry. "Don't you have homework to finish or something?”

"Or something." Claude shrugs before throwing himself on to the sofa Jeralt now has in his office. Did he finally get one because he got tired of walking into his office with Claude reclining on Jeralt’s chair and his feet on Jeralt's desk? Yes. This is what he gets for letting a brat have free reign to his office.

Finding a good position, Claude lays down on the sofa, raises one of Jeralt's tactics journals over his face, and starts reading through it.

One thing Jeralt likes about Claude is that when the kid reads, he gets really into it. He's stopped by many times in the office, sometimes bringing books that Jeralt pretends are allowed to leave the library, and using Jeralt's office like a study area. Jeralt's resigned to it at this point, mostly because he knows that at least here, no one's going to bother Claude about the surely-not-illegal shit he's reading.

So when Claude starts pulling the journal close to his face, Jeralt knows he'll be staying in again.

Half an hour later, Jeralt finishes grading Sylvain's, Felix's, and Annette's essays with a flourish. He sets it aside, takes another-- Ingrid's. Small letters, even spaces, and enough details to make Jeralt hum in approval -- and then glares at Claude over the papers when he notices the kid has the journal on his chest now, looking up at the ceiling with a frown. "This isn't some breakroom, you know. You can't just come in here to relax whenever you want." Not that it has ever stopped Claude before.

"I'm not relaxing. I'm _investigating_." Claude swings his feet down on the floor, turning the journal he's reading towards Jeralt's direction and apparently eager for another talk. "Like, see here?" He points at a small illustration of formations drawn on one of the pages, the area copying a battle in a place he can barely remember. "Says here this battle took place in the plains near _Sylvestris_ river _,_ west of the County of Ordelia, but I know for a fact that Sylvestris river doesn’t exist anymore because a landslide dammed it and made it merge with the Myrddin river instead. A landslide that happened _70 years ago_." Claude looks very proud of himself as he finishes.

"Right." Jeralt nods easily. Give the kid some credit, Jeralt himself had forgotten about that river not existing anymore. "And what does that mean exactly?" Jeralt knows exactly what it means. He also doesn't care. He's two centuries old, or close to it. He's far from that nervous knight that was hyperaware of how 'different' and 'long-lived' he was compared to most other people.

"And it says _here_." Claude flips the pages to the front, pointing at a line Jeralt cannot fucking read from this far so it's useless. "That this battle was based from experience."

Jeralt doesn't even bother denying it, more amused than annoyed. "It was."

Claude, honest to damn, _pouts_. "Aww, come on. You're taking the wind out of my sails here. At least act surprised."

"I am. This is my surprised face," he says with the blandest expression he can muster.

Claude deflates, slumping back down the couch with a groan. "You're no fun, Cap."

Jeralt smirks and turns back to grading.

"My point..." Claude raises his pointer finger to the ceiling because he does not know when to give up. "My point is that you're old. Older than should be possible. Or at least this journal. It even has your initials on it!"

"All my journals have my initials on them." Jeralt points out without ever actually agreeing to anything. He has learned over the years to just let people make their own assumptions, never confirming anything. Even if they think they're right, they'll never be completely sure. "It’s how everyone knows they’re mine.”

Claude stares at him, eyes glittering with curiosity despite the languid smile on his face. "You don't really care much about this, do you?"

Jeralt pauses in the middle of writing out Ingrid's score.

Does he? No. Not at all. What does it matter if he hides it? What does it matter if he _doesn't?_ Any person that he's ever told eventually dies. And if they tell anybody else, who would believe them? Everyone else that hasn't been told-- well, their memories of him fade since he doesn't stay in one place for too long. Rhea has sent him all over and out of Fodlan on account of his... situation, changing his name when needed.

He knows he had told the Blue Lions that the first book he lent them, his first tactics journal, was one he wrote himself, but he took good care of his journals. Unless they had something that can test how old it is, they can't tell whether a journal was 50 years old or 200, and Jeralt had taken great care not to put too many details in if anyone did look through them. His private journals were another thing, but he would never share those outside of Byleth anyway.

He can't remember the last time he explicitly told someone outside of his kid, who deserved to know, and Seteth, who Jeralt is highly sure by now is like Rhea. He has vague memories of getting drunk and telling Alois, but the man has never confronted him about it, so he's not sure whether it was a fever dream brought about by alcohol or something he actually did.

The ink drips from his quill and unto the paper. Jeralt curses, dabbing at the blot with the nearest bit of free paper. There goes Ingrid's cleanly written essay.

"I have nothing to hide," Jeralt finally says, because he honestly doesn't. Well. Except for Byleth investigating the church. And the student they’ve somehow roped into it. And Rhea's long-lived status. Seteth's and his sister's. Byleth's never-beating heart.

Huh. Jeralt kept a lot more secrets than he thought.

Claude takes a long moment to stare at him before he huffs, a small bit of laughter escaping from his mouth. "If that's how you want to play it, sure. I like you, Cap. So I won't push."

"Is that Claude-speak for 'I will definitely look into this'?"

Claude blinks innocently, another grin, smaller but more real, on his face.

Jeralt rolls his eyes and goes back to grading.

Frankly, Jeralt prefers it if Claude pries into his own secrets than the church's. At least if Claude ever finds out the truth, the worst Jeralt is willing to do is to bonk him on the head and tell him to shut up.

\--

But of course, with Claude going into his office all the time, other people are bound to catch him in there at one point or another.

The next time Jeralt stops by his office, he walks into a stare-off between an irate Seteth standing over a relaxed Claude reclining on the sofa.

"I'm pretty sure I locked this damn office," Jeralt grumbles. The door has a lock. A perfectly working lock that no one in this damn monastery respects, apparently.

"Ah. Jeralt. I was hoping to hand you the updates for the Blue Lion's bandit mission. We have located where they've retreated to," Seteth says without looking away from Claude. "I did not expect you to already have a guest."

"I'm here to consult Cap about something in class," Claude says smoothly, shrugging. Jeralt eyes the area around him. Normally, Claude only invites himself in when he has a new, interesting (and illegal) book to read that he borrowed (stole) from the library. Jeralt finds no such book on the sofa or the small table in front of him, but there is another one of Jeralt's journals in his hands.

Seteth raises a brow. "Really? And could you not have waited _outside_ the office, as is protocol?"

Claude lays the journal on his lap and raises his hands. "I had permission from Cap to wait here."

"Don't worry about it Seteth." Jeralt eyes the journal, an idea forming in his head. He did plan on opening it up to the students after all. "I called the kid here."

"For what reason?"

Pretending like he's not pulling the words out of his ass, Jeralt says, "For the tactics journals. They're stories of battles I've collected over the years. Helps with my lessons sometimes since I have real-life examples to show them. Kid's been bothering me about opening it up to the other students--" Claude has. No lie to be caught there. "--so I thought since he's so interested, I'll put him in charge of it. Record keeping about who borrows what and what not." Kind of? He'll ask Tomas how a book-lending system works outside of just handing them to anyone who asks for them. Jeralt has learned his lesson. Doing it frivolously will only end with at least two of your journals in the Fraldarius Family Library, apparently.

Seteth's attention shifts to Jeralt, surprised. "Not Prince Dimitri? One would think, being your class leader, he would be put in charge of such things."

Jeralt could have. He's sure Dimitri wouldn't mind the additional work. Or any of the more bookish Blue Lion, even. Goddess knows Sylvain might protest, but he seems to like reading the journals more than the rest of them, and the additional work on something he likes might be good for him.

"Claude has told me that he's very interested in them, especially since he comes here a lot." To pry out Jeralt's secrets, yes, but the interest is there. "And I thought making someone outside my class run it would make it clear it's not a Blue Lions thing."

There's also the fact that, if he puts Claude in charge of it, he'll have a convenient excuse to use Jeralt's office whenever he wants. Which he does. Often.

Claude catches on quick. "Absolutely," he says, somehow managing to sound like a student pretending _not_ to be annoyed at the additional work being assigned to him. Jeralt silently applauds the acting. "Lysithea and Lorenz have been bugging me about borrowing them for ages. And I'm pretty sure a few of the other Black Eagles are eyeing them as well."

Seteth crosses his arms, a finger tapping his chin. "You can always hand them off to the library."

"No." Absolutely-fucking-not. "They're still mine, you know. I don't want it circulating around the entire monastery. Just the three main classes."

"Very well. Those aren't monastery property anyhow. You are free to choose how to handle them." Seteth turns to Claude, frowning. "Be that as it may, I must ask Mr. von Riegan to leave the room for now. I still have things to discuss with Professor Jeralt. Alone."

Claude jumps up from the couch and bows slightly, somehow managing to make it look both respectful and cheeky. "Sure, sure. I'll come back later to hash out the details for the record-keeping for the-- hm. Do we have a name for the journals, Cap?"

"They don’t need names."

"The Eisner Chronicles?" Claude suggests.

"No."

"Jeralt Journals?"

" _No._ "

"The Life and Times of the Blade Breaker?"

"Not everything written there was from me. Some of them were stories I heard from other knights."

"But, still--"

" _Ehem_." Seteth coughs loudly, looking very unimpressed. "Might I suggest you discuss this later?"

"Of course, of course." Claude says graciously, leaving the room with a wink, one of Jeralt's journal still in his hand. The brat didn't even _ask_ to borrow it.

Once Claude has left, Seteth turns back to Jeralt with an amused smile on his face. "Does he come here often?"

" _All the fucking time,"_ Jeralt gripes. "Kid's always asking about one thing or another." No one needs to know that it’s usually not about Jeralt’s classes and more about things that might get Claude in hot water with the church.

Seteth stares at Jeralt before slowly panning to the shelf where all the journals are stacked. It is a very tall shelf. Eyebrows raised, Seteth coughs into his fist. Jeralt can see a smirk hidden behind it before it turns back into a stern frown. "And I suppose giving him this additional responsibility will keep him out of trouble?"

Jeralt hides his amusement with a snort. "That's the plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse except I fell into SVSSS on accident and am now in the process of reading through both TGCF and TCF. So. Uhh.....  
> Comments! Let's go to comments!  
> \-- Did ya'll know Edelgard was supposed to be the next BE to appear but Jeritza came in and kicked her outta the scene. Jeritza's not even a Black Eagle. Jeritza what the fuck.  
> \-- Guys. Guys I love the Sylvain-Mercedes support scenes so?? So much???? Guys I want more scenes between them, but I'm stuck writing and then staring at a single sentence summarizing their relationship and it _hurts_  
>  \-- The image of Mercy teaching Dimitri how to sew in their support healed my soul and I am putting it in this fic somehow just you wait.  
> \-- Me, while writing the dining hall scene: I. MISS. WRITING. BYLETH. *proceeds to project feelings into Jeralt*  
> \-- Back in HS, I let my entire set of pjo books get borrowed in the classroom. It got passed around so much that when I got them back, at least one of the books looked like someone had grinded it's spine, flushed it down the toilet, and then ripped it apart before putting it back together again, except worse. Imagine Jeralt going through that with shit he actually wrote. Yowch.  
> \-- Do you know how long I agonized between using the words 'couch' or 'sofa'??? Too damn long.  
> \-- There's no pairings in this fic but like, the nearest to the endgame here is probably Seteth & Jeralt tired-old-men friendship because they need it.  
> \-- I swear. I fucking swear I was gonna do the bandit mission this chapter oTL but oh god I couldn't resist prolonging the office scene. Why is Claude so fun to write.  
> \-- ALSO, ALSO, YOU GUYS DON'T KNOW HOW HAPPY I AM THAT I FINALLY DID THAT SCENE. CLAUDE STARTING A CLUB (IS IT A CLUB? WHATEVER. IT'S CLOSE TO IT) HAS BEEN PLANNED SINCE THE BEGINNING OF THE STORY. GUYS I HAVE A LIST OF THINGS I WANT TO HAPPEN, AND THAT'S ONE OF THEM. 
> 
> Anyway, the glacial pacing of this story is killing me so I'm kind of debating ending this story after Part I and just dividing the parts I planned into series. Or should I just continue doing as is, dividing them up into parts in a single story? But I warn ya'll, after Part I, I'm not going to update until I finish the entirety of Part II, instead of writing things by chapters and posting it immediately. I also have some oneshots I want to write, but they're on the backburner for now. ON THE OTHER HAND, I think I'm getting my writing groove back, so expect the next chapter by Saturday or Sunday next week. I hope.   
> Edit: Sorry folks, writing groove is not _completely_ back, but I rest assured that I won't take more than a month to update this again, lol. 
> 
> Thanks so much for being patient! I want you all to know I appreciate all the kudos and hits and comments and bookmarks I get! Everytime I see one in my inbox, my heart goes AAAAAAAA and it honestly makes my day.


	7. Part I: Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt blames Byleth. He's never had a reason to interact much with the students when he was a knight. He was either too busy or out of the monastery entirely. Any student interaction he had was usually limited. He's pretty sure he didn't give them an 'approachable' impression even then.
> 
> Now, as a professor, he's always around them, and he is horrified to realize he is incapable of making them go away. Like hounds scenting prey, the students have picked up on this.
> 
> Jeralt has not known peace since then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some normal cussing. The vague morality of FE3H letting kids kill, getting them to face their own mortality, and then just handwaving over it. The usual shit.

The bandit mission in Zanado ends with one final swing of a knight’s sword, severing the bandit leader’s head with a dull thud.

Jeralt frowns at the knight, even as he flings the blood dripping from his lance away. He had been hoping to confront the bandit leader about that attack in Remire, but in between the stress of his new job, keeping the students in line, and Byleth’s determination to give him new stress lines, his vague suspicions had been pushed to the wayside.

There were too many coincidences. The heirs to three different countries? Separated from their teachers and retinue? _In the middle of a midnight ambush?_

Maybe he’s overthinking it, but if that isn’t a fucking assassination all dressed up in a ‘bandit attack’, Jeralt will eat his braid.

For a moment, Jeralt thanks his lucky stars he isn’t in charge of security in the monastery anymore. Goddess, the heirs to the Kingdom, the Empire, _and_ the Alliance all in the same year? That’s a political nightmare waiting to happen. All the chaos that would ensue if anything happened to them--

Wait.

Those heirs are his students.

They’re _his_ political nightmares waiting to happen.

Fuck. Well. That’s something new he’ll have to stress over later.

At the very least, the Blue Lion’s bandit extermination went well.

It isn't that Jeralt expected it to blow up in his face. Well, he had, but only in a sense of "prepare for the worst; hope for the best," sort of thing. The phrase had served him well over the years.

(Until the 'worst' turned out to be his oldest friend getting more and more unnerving and, dare he say it, _unhinged_ around his only child. There had been no preparing for that.)

In the end, Jeralt had pulled up all the stops to make the first mission easier on the Blue Lions.

Focusing more on battle awareness and team cohesion. Familiarizing them with the terrain they might likely encounter in Zanado (and hadn't that pissed off Jeralt despite not being in the church for years). Drilling them on their forms and attacks until they were more training grounds sand than student.

It had been the same over-preparedness Jeralt had done for Byleth's first battle. All that's left is to stick them with the most skilled mercenaries under his employ.

But those mercenaries are all with Byleth. The Knights of Seiros will have to do.

The Blue Lions finished the mission splendidly. As much as seeing kids _killing_ a person can be described as 'splendidly'.

But Jeralt had sort of expected-- something.

He's no stranger to the moral ambiguity of what they're doing. He's had his fair share of campfire talks and questioning from both Byleth and the younger members of his merc band. But he had forgotten.

The Blue Lions were from Faerghus.

There's a saying about the Kingdom of Faerghus that's well-known throughout most of Fodlan.

_Faerghans learn to hold a sword before they learn to hold a pen._

In some ways, it's true. Fearghus values physical strength and skills in weaponry more than most. They churn out talented knights, mercenaries, and tacticians almost every generation. It's what they're known for.

When one thinks _Knight of Faerghus_ , one expects great military skill, especially in lances, and discipline. It's no surprise so many of their nobles start their children's training young, and that the training usually involves exposing the kids to battles at a young age.

Even Jeralt had done it to Byleth; a combination of necessity as Byleth had insisted on joining him in their merc jobs and Jeralt's own Faerghan upbringing.

It hadn't been until Jeralt saw Byleth after their first kill, wiping their sword over and over again with their back straight yet eyes somehow duller than usual, that Jeralt had realized how _young_ they were. Under the flickering light of the campfire, Byleth had looked small.

(Jeralt can't remember his first kill, but he can remember what happened after. Words locked in his mouth amidst the praises of all the adults around him, dealing with his thoughts alone, numb and strangely distant until it had become routine.

That day, he sat beside Byleth and made sure they weren’t alone like he had been once upon a time.)

Jeralt can spot which of the Blue Lions had already likely gotten through their first battle and, subsequently, their first kill.

Dimitri, who had a solemn expression and a clenched fist around his lance; Dedue, who had struck down the first bandit with his axe and only the barest of a flicker within his eyes; Felix, who scoffed at his easy kill but went around the battle with gritted teeth; Ingrid, who seemed to only falter slightly before whispering, " _It's my duty_ ," and soldiering on with her chin high; and Sylvain, who had actually _apologized_ before wincing at himself and continuing on with a grim smile that was more like a grimace on his face.

The fact that Mercedes, Annette, and Ashe hadn't is a problem, and one he isn't equipped to handle. He had barely blundered through Byleth's first kill years ago.

Goddess save him. He's in charge of the Blue Lions. Whether he wants to or not, he'll have to handle it. They joined an Officer's Academy, after all. They'll have to get used to it sooner or later.

After the battle, he keeps an eye on the other three Blue Lions as they travel back, the ones who hadn't killed until the mission.

It’s Ashe whom he goes to first.

He’s muttering lowly, his fingers worrying over his sleeve. As Jeralt gets closer to him, he can hear Ashe saying under his breath, over and over, ” _It’s better them than me_. _It's better them than me._ "

Jeralt places a hand on his head, making Ashe sputter to a stop and blink up at him. “Captain?”

Jeralt clicks his tongue. _Are you okay_ sounds dumb and _You're right_ sounds real damn callous.

"Is this your first battle?" is the one Jeralt settles on even though internally, he scowls. Real damn obvious, Blade Breaker. Of course it's his first battle. He should have just gone with _You're absolutely right, I'd prefer them dead rather than one of my own kids._

"Ah, yeah." Ashe says, wringing his hands around the tunic peeking out of his armor. He doesn't throw Jeralt's hand off his head, gradually relaxing. "I'm sorry, Captain. Was it that obvious?"

"Mm." Jeralt shrugs. "I would've thought you'd already gone through your first battle. You were adopted by Gaspard, right? Faerghus nobles usually go through their first battles at 14." He had expected Annette to have already gone through hers as well, but judging from the jittery way she seems to hold Mercedes's hand and her too-shaky smile, she hadn't yet.

Ashe winces. "Lord Lonato has been busy these past few months."

"What about the Gaspard knights? Couldn't he have sent you off with them?"

Ashe opens his mouth, closes it, visibly struggling for words. Quieter, he continues, "My--my brother, Christophe, he promised me he would be the one to-- yeah. So when Christophe died, Lonato promised to do it for me in his stead."

Jeralt carefully does not think about why Lord Lonato has to.

"So Lord Lonato's busy, hm?"

"It's not his fault!" Ashe instantly defends. "He says-- the Western Church is acting up again, so Lord Lonato has been mediating between them and the Central Church for the past few months now."

"Not blaming him, kid," Jeralt soothes, though he's kind of relieved Ashe has started to get his energy back. "Goddess knows the Western Church has been making a lot of noise these past few years." Jeralt has, in fact, been avoiding that part of Faerghus because of it. The moment the word 'church' was mentioned, he had high-tailed it out of there, dragging the mercs and Byleth with him.

"I still wish it was him here, though," he confesses, looking up at Jeralt nervously before looking back down at his hands.

Not offended at all, Jeralt moves his hand from Ashe's head to his shoulders, pulling him close into a semi-hug. Ashe practically melts into it. Oh goddess, these kids were so _small_. "Send him a letter. I'm sure he wants to know how you're doing."

Ashe nods. With a deep breathe, he pulls away from Jeralt and straightens himself. It doesn't help much. He's still small. He barely even reaches Jeralt's shoulders. Kids were tough, though. Tougher than most people realize.

Jeralt gives him one last pat on the shoulder. With a gruff, "Come talk to me if you want," Jeralt moves on to the next two students on the list.

After subtly nudging Dedue into Ashe's direction to keep him company, Jeralt walks to the other two kids.

Mercedes and Annette are, thankfully, together, their arms curled around each other. Mercedes, while pale, looks more settled than Annette, who can't seem to get her mouth to stop moving as she talks about some assignment Hanneman gave them. Jeralt kind of wants to put his hand on her head and shut off her stream of rambling as well.

"--postulate about the five elements-- oh, hi Captain!" Annette greets, beaming. "How did I do? I did good, right? I'm a good fighter!"

Blindsided by the enthusiasm, Jeralt says, "Yeah, you did great, kid. Nailed them straight in the chest with your Flames." Which was likely not what he should have said, but it's out now. _Fuck_. "Great job saving Dedue from what could have been a nasty cut." There. Telling her how good she was at _protecting_ someone was leagues better than telling her what a good job she did _killing_ someone. "How are you kids doing?"

Mercedes smiles. "We're fine, Captain," she says, voice softer than usual. "That was a rather tough battle, wasn't it? I'm glad everyone came out okay."

Annette nods. She glances at Ashe for a moment before turning to Jeralt. "Yeah, we're okay Captain. It's kind of expected, right? I was supposed to have my first battle before attending the Academy too, but..." She shakes her head, continuing on with a brighter smile that's not fooling Jeralt one bit. "It's fine! We're fine! We did great!"

"You did," Jeralt agrees, and after watching Annette give another glance at Ashe's back, Jeralt takes a guess and pats her on the head too. She's wearing her hair up in a bun that looks suspiciously like Felix's. "You all did. I'm glad you kids came out okay."

"Can Annette get a hug as well, Captain?" Mercedes pipes up, gracefully ignoring Annette's embarrassed squeak.

Jeralt shrugs. Carefully, he pulls her in for a semi-hug, pressed slightly into his side the same way he had for Ashe earlier, or for his mercs when they needed it. Annette relaxes into it, same as Ashe, and Jeralt wonders if any other adult had comforted these brats before him. Mercedes gets pulled in as well. Jeralt has big arms. He can take it.

He pulls away before it gets too weird. Looking at Mercedes's clasped hands and considering how... pious Faerghus is, he asks, "It'll be evening by the time we get to the Monastery but do you want to head to the cathedral? To pray or something?"

"I thought the cathedral was closed after the evening bell?" Mercedes says.

Jeralt, who had once snuck into said cathedral with Sitri--

( _"I have heard the cathedral architecture can improve voice quality." Sitri's eyes shined with the determination to strangle her vocal chords into something that won't scare the Saints themselves into rising in their graves to escape. In the end, it hadn't helped, but by the goddess, the rumors of a wailing ghost that had spread after that night still brought a furious blush on her otherwise impassive face when he teased her.)_

\--shrugs. "Not a problem."

"Can I come too?" Annette asks after a brief moment of thinking.

"Sure." Turning to the other Blue Lions, he says, "Alright, anyone else want to join them in the cathedral later?"

"I think I would like that," Ashe says.

Dimitri nods as well, but he looks hesitant, eyes dark.

With a raised brow, Jeralt adds, "I can get you all into the training grounds later, if that's your thing."

"That would be preferrable," Dimitri says, relieved, making no mention of the fact that training in the evening is prohibited. The kid has, after all, snuck into the training grounds in the early mornings more than once.

"Fine," Felix says shortly.

Dedue nods. With Dimitri going, it's not a surprise.

"I would prefer to head to my room," Ingrid says. Jeralt makes a mental note to get someone to deliver her some deserts.

"Ah, why not? It's too late to go into town anyways," Sylvain says, stretching his hands behind his head. Jeralt's not fooled. He had seen the minute glance Sylvain had shot at both Felix and Dimitri.

"Great." Jeralt nods. He should probably not be enabling bad habits like staying up late, but it's not like the kids can sleep tonight. "Anyone else want to talk?" he calls out, absolutely ignoring the voice in his head that are hissing at him to shut up. Jeralt never said he was _good_ at this shit.

"No," Felix says bluntly. "Absolutely not."

"Good," Jeralt replies, relieved. "I fucking hate talking about feelings."

It startles both Annette and Sylvain into a laugh.

\--

After the mission, things return to their regularly scheduled Officer's Academy drama.

Jeralt gets more essays to grade and exams to preside over. He manages to wring more afternoons fishing with Seteth, because Jeralt has kind of been testing his patience with all his requests the past month. He has even managed to go out drinking with Manuela and Hanneman, except Jeralt has been cursed by weird-ass crest-giving blood and can't get drunk anymore unless he drinks an ocean's worth of alcohol, so he spent most of the night watching, amused and sober, as their bickering got more and more incoherent with every mug of ale they finish.

Despite the return to normalcy, Jeralt keeps an eye on the Blue Lions in case they need him or something. He's relieved that they don't. Jeralt does not, in fact, want to juggle whatever trauma they have. He's not qualified for that shit, but he keeps his doors open and lessens the homework he gives them for the next week.

As for the students, Dedue and Ashe have claimed territory in a section of the student greenhouse, which the Blue Lions have taken to guarding zealously. The uniquely-shaped plants of Duscur have been growing well. Claude's taken advantage of his newfound power over Jeralt's office to speedread through Jeralt's journals, taking notes in a suspicious looking notebook and writing in either code or chicken scratch. Dimitri has somehow had it in his head that he has to work even _harder_ now after walking in on Claude and Jeralt debating on how to categorize Jeralt's tactics journals and if they should label it by number, letter, or both.

He does not know how Dimitri has gotten into that conclusion, but he's infected both Annette and Ingrid, and they glare at Claude sometimes like he had stolen the last dessert of the day and refused to share.

With Garland Moon rolling in, he has to prepare for a new batch of birthdays, of which Jeralt both overthinks on and avoids thinking about at the same time.

Byleth's to blame for everything. Jeralt loves them enough to abandon his home and career that had been almost two centuries in the making, but Jeralt is so _stressed-the-fuck-out_ over the goddamn presents, it's ridiculous.

Jeralt _never_ should have told anyone about giving the kids gifts. Should have just dropped their presents on their desk or in front of their dorm room or abused the Monastery's postal delivery service even though that shit is supposed to be for letters and parcels _going out_ of the monastery rather than in.

The students have all been loudly hinting about what they want ever since they learned of that cursed fact, confident in the fact that they'll _get something_ on their big day.

The Blue Lions are the worst of the lot. Even _Felix_ is in on it, glaring at Jeralt's Zoltan-forged lance whenever Jeralt deigns to bring it out and then pointedly glaring at his own perfectly-nice steel sword in a loud non-declaration of, " _I want one, but make it a sword."_

Does the kid think those weapons grow on trees? Does he think Jeralt can just summon the most famous blacksmith in Fodlan out of a barrel and commission him for a sword? Jeralt makes a note of it in his journal anyway.

These brats are lucky that Jeralt can still remember Byleth's near-panic when they had first asked him to do this.

\--

A few days later finds Jeralt heading for the training grounds, intent on getting some exercise in after so many hours of sitting in his office. His legs have started to cramp. If he starts limping because if paperwork rather than some battle injury, the spirit of every single knight that he had trained will personally rise up just to laugh at him. They were all annoying little shits like that.

A resounding clash echoes from beyond the doors just as he reaches the entrance to the training grounds, followed by the painful clatter of metal that rings in his ears.

Alright. There goes his plans to relax for the rest of the day.

Jeralt heads to the section where he had heard the noise, recognizing Mercedes, Dimitri, and that loud Black Eagle, Caspar or something, staring at a weapons rack where rows upon rows of training lances have spread out on the ground beyond it in an avalanche of metal and wood.

"What in Flames happened here?" Jeralt is so tired. How did they do this. Those training lances were _heavy._ It would take more than a jostle to upend everything.

Jeralt didn't sound mad, but in the middle of the first training ground circle, both Mercedes and Dimitri wince. Mercedes hides an embarrassed chuckle behind her hand while Dimitri flushes, his ears a bright red.

"CAPTAIN DID YOU SEE?" Caspar, from the other side of the training ring, yells out, his light blue hair plastered to his face from what was likely sweat from his own training as he points at the mess. "MERCEDES SENT THE SWORD FLYING! IT WAS SO FAST! HOW DID YOU DO THAT? IT WAS AMAZING!"

As if to punctuate his excited yelling, the one remaining training lance on the weapons rack he points at tilts, and then falls, joining its brethren on the floor and rolling off the pile in a sad series of _Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!_

Each consecutive _Clang!_ is greeted by Dimitri wincing at every sound, the red of his ears crawling down his neck as it goes on. Mercedes giggles in the kind of way one does when they don't know what else to do, hiding it with a dainty hand.

"Good afternoon, Captain," Mercedes finally says when the noise stops. She doesn't have her shawl, having dressed down in training clothes like Dimitri, though his is notably more elaborately designed as befitting of royalty. "Prince Dimitri was just showing me the basics of wielding a sword, you see, and I had got carried away and it slipped off my hand. Oh, I'm so sorry!"

One adventurous training lance rolls far enough away to bump into Dimitri's foot.

"Just-- Just fix it." Jeralt sighs, gesturing to the weapons rack. Swordmanship? Jeralt hadn't noticed she was interested. He'll ask her about it later.

After they rearrange the weapons back on the rack, the Caspar kid helping despite the fact that he didn't have anything to do with the mess in the first place, they line up in front of him, heads bowed sheepishly.

Still, training weapon or not, sending a sword that heavy (since it was designed to mimic the average weight of actual swords) that far across the training grounds was impressive. Mercedes's training with the bow must be coming in nicely.

"It was my fault, Captain," Dimitri immediately says, so earnestly genuine it makes Jeralt's teeth hurt. "I should have taught Mercedes better as I had known her grip was wrong."

"Oh no, no. It was mine," Mercedes insists.

"Mercedes, no. As your instructor, I am at fault here."

"Your Highness, if I hadn't--"

"Well _I_ think it was cool," Caspar says unnecessarily. Jeralt pats him on the head for the effort. And also because he didn't need to help them clean in the first place and that deserves some praise.

"I'm not against you kids teaching each other so long as you're not spreading bad habits. I'm going to assume this was an accident, and that none of you repeat this. Ever." Jeralt gives Caspar a look. He doesn't know the kid well outside of lessons, but he will not be surprised if he tries to do it at least once after this.

Caspar laughs nervously, scratching his cheek.

Jeralt sighs. He feels like an old man. "Where's the person that's supposed to supervise you?"

"Over there!" Caspar points at the shadowed corner of the training grounds.

Jeralt squints. Ah, so _that's_ why Mercedes was trying out swords.

"Jeritza, why the fuck are you hiding there?"

Morosely, Jeritza melts out of the shadows. Jeralt has only ever been in one of the Empire's theater houses once, but Jeritza looks a lot like one of the actors appearing from the depths of the backstage for his cue, complete with mask and all. "I was watching," Jeritza says almost petulantly under his dark tone. "They would not have come to harm."

Jeralt side-eyes the tear in one of Dimitri's sleeves, which the boy not-so-discreetly tries to hide under his cape.

"Sure," he says. Without a glance at Mercedes, Jeralt gestures at her irritably and says, "Well, you're the swords instructor, right? Get over here and teach her." He turns to Dimitri with a roll of his eyes. "I know you've been teaching the orphans in your spare time--" Which makes Dimitri jerk. Hah! Nothing happens to the Blue Lions that escapes Jeralt's notice. He even knows when Sylvain sneaks off into the village to flirt. "-- And I'm sure you're doing great, but it won't be remiss to get some tips from Jeritza or something to help you."

Mercedes claps her hands. "That's a brilliant idea Captain." She turns to Jeritza, smiling sweetly. "Professor Jeritza, won't you teach us? I wanted to at least have the basics mastered like the rest of my classmates before I entered your lessons, but I suppose it was arrogant of me not to ask you first. In fact, I think I may need more one-on-one training later to even catch up! What do you think, Captain?"

Jeralt nods seriously. "Oh, absolutely."

And then all four of them turn to Jeritza, pinning him down with their stares. Mercedes's smile stays sweet.

Jeritza's face is blank. Jeralt, fluent in Byleth-ese, catches the minute jerk of Jeritza's body as if he were about to turn tail and run far, far away from the Monastery entirely.

Jeritza's lips pinch but the man braves Mercedes's trap and glides forward, picking up one of the training swords as he goes. "Very well... Mercedes..." he says reluctantly. If he has a secret to hide, he is not very good at hiding it. Deny, deny, deny can only work so well if one doesn't sound so damn obvious about it.

Dimitri blinks, slow and considering, likely realizing there's more to the weird tension between Mercedes and Jeritza that he knows. "I see," he says, clasping his hands together. "Mercedes and I would be glad for your tutelage, Professor."

Jeralt waves goodbye at the students, trusting that Dimitri can make sure Jeritza won't do anything weird, and escapes before he gets dragged into it. Mercedes had said she wanted to handle whatever Jeritza's hiding on her own, and so Jeralt will leave her to it.

\--

"Captain," Sylvain strolls up to his desk after class, leaning down on said desk with his elbows and his chin on his folded hands. "You know what day it is today, right?"

"Thursday?" Jeralt says wryly as he gathers up the essays from this week's 'best-way-to-not-get-your-troop-killed' lesson.

Sylvain nods. "Oh, absolutely. Thursdays are the best day of the week. In fact, this Thursday in particular, on this wonderful morning of the 5th of Garland Moon--"

"I see you've volunteered to help me carry these back to my office." Jeralt says as he finally has all the papers into one folder, slotting it under the books he had brought with him.

"--especially for-- what?"

Jeralt drops them on Sylvain's arms, who catches the pile automatically. "Come on. I haven't got all day. I still have lance lessons with the Black Eagles later." He places one of his books over the pile Sylvain is already holding.

Sylvain narrows his eyes. "Did you forget to buy me a present?" From his tone, it even sounds like he expects it.

"Look at the book cover, kid."

Sylvain looks. "I--" He peers down, pulling the pile with the book on top closer to his face and pursing his lips at the carefully painted character symbols on the cover. "Oh. Oh wow. This is a great present Captain! Except I can't read this."

"Were you or were you not bothering Claude about that book from Sreng that he found in my shelf?" Claude had been complaining very loudly, even as he took apart Jeralt's bookshelf to see what other things he could find.

He brightens up. "This is it?" He shifts his hold on the pile to free one hand and uses it to open the book.

Well, more like a notebook. The inside was a mess of notes and drawings, both in the languages of Fodlan and Sreng. Looking closer, it was obviously a notebook of someone attempting to learn how to read and speak in Sreng.

It was just gathering dust in his shelf. The knight who had once owned it, one who had once been under his command, would have liked that someone else can put it to good use.

"Don't know why you'd want that old thing," Jeralt says. "But if you plan to use it, just remember it's decades old. The language Sreng uses is probably a little different now." He taps at another book under the notebook and pulls it out slightly to show off the cover. "This one's actually a journal I bought from Claude. It's from some traveler that went to Sreng. Wrote down the culture and shit."

"Claude?" Sylvain says with the amount of incredulity it deserves. "It's great Cap. I love it. But also, _how_?"

"I've stopped asking questions. Kid just pulls out books out of nowhere now. Thinking about it just drives me to an early grave."

Sylvain snorts, looking like he's trying to hide a smile before it morphs into a smirk instead. He closes the notebook carefully. "Better than nothing, I guess. My family burned down almost everything related to Sreng when we took over their land. It can help. Probably. Or who knows--" Sylvain laughs. Jeralt narrows his eyes at how empty it sounds. "--Maybe all this was just for nothing. Thank anyway, Cap."

\--

When Jeralt had been a Knight Captain, he had a reputation for being strict with the knights under his command. He expects the best of the people who had put down their lives, their titles, and their future to serve the church.

They were, after all, training to be the best of their chosen field, and it was a choice they (mostly) made of their own free will.

But outside of training drills and missions, Jeralt tended to be approachable.

Or, rather, he apparently had an aura about him that made him appear friendly and approachable, though Jeralt had no fucking idea why. He was gruff and blunt and tended to be hard to please, which only fueled people more because it made them want to _prove themselves_ to him.

_No, thank you._

It, frankly, brought him some annoyance, but his old age made him more indulgent of the ridiculous situations his knights had dragged him into at one point or another.

As a professor, he still has roughly the same reputation. He _was_ stern in the classroom, and especially on the training grounds. He graded works and essays with the vengeance of a man who had read and written far too many books in his lifetime. His lessons nailed in the theories of whatever topic he had planned, and then hammered that lesson in with case studies and examples that his class would debate over while Jeralt supervised and offered his own suggestions.

But, apparently, if the knights found him easy to talk to, it was doubly so for students.

Jeralt cannot go a day without at least one of the brats stopping him for one reason or another. Felix wants a critique on his sword-form? Alright. That Black Eagle kid, Ferdinand, wants his opinion on some essay about the shifting powers in the Empire? Jeralt is allergic to politics, but sure. Leonie wants to join him on his next hunt? Jeralt wasn't _planning to_ but now he _has to_ because he can't disappoint her and all the other students that have somehow caught wind of his non-existent next hunt.

Byleth has spoiled him. Their disappointment when he does not live up to their expectations had never been as obvious or as guilt-inducing as the students's.

(That is a lie. Even just the slight dimming of Byleth's eyes makes Jeralt feel like the scum of Fodlan.)

_I used to be feared_ , he would think in one of his charitable moments, like when that Linhardt kid from the Black Eagles had walked up to him, asked for some of his bait while Jeralt himself was fishing, and then proceeded to sit beside Jeralt to take a nap, still holding his now-baited fishing rod. Jeralt had been very tempted to let the kid fall off the pier when a fish finally bit and pulled the kid's line. _How did it turn out like this? The knights of old would never have dreamed of barging into my fishing time and stealing my bait._

Maybe it's just normal kid stuff? Jeralt only had Byleth as a reference, and Byleth had never been a normal kid. Maybe all the others were just like this, and both Byleth and Jeralt had missed the memo.

Maybe it's just regular kid stuff to dive down long-hidden church secrets that have never seen the light of day since forever?

Or that's just Claude. Jeralt fucking hopes it's just Claude.

The rest of the kids just do regular kid stuff. At least, Jeralt thinks they're regular kids stuff.

Ignatz, one of the kids that he hasn't personally talked to, routinely sneaks out to paint and doesn't seem to realize he's being very obvious when he does so. Ashe and that Black Eagle kid, Caspar, ran by in front of him once, chasing after a cat of all things and yelling "Thief!" in such an affronted tone that Jeralt had laughed loud enough to scare the cat up a roof. And, by virtue of having an office close to the library, he's seen kids sneak in and out of said library at too-late an hour.

(He even saw Dimitri at some point which, coupled with the kid's tendency to train at _early-as-Flames_ hours of the morning, made for some troubling implications. If it continues, Jeralt may have to step in and intervene.)

Normal kid stuff. Probably. Not as worse as the weird shit Byleth got into as a teen.

(The mercs have not let Byleth live down that period in their life when they refused to wear shoes for three entire months.)

But, apparently, despite Leonie's aptly put description of his face (" _Like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed_ ,") it blares out a constant invitation of ' _Welcome!'_ to most of the his students in the monastery. And it wasn't like Jeralt can tell them to go away _._ He's physically incapable of doing it.

Jeralt blames Byleth. He's never had a reason to interact much with the students when he was a knight. He was either too busy or out of the monastery entirely. Any student interaction he had was usually limited. He's pretty sure he didn't give them an _'approachable'_ impression even then.

Now, as a professor, he's _always_ around them, and he is horrified to realize he is incapable of making them go away. Like hounds scenting prey, the students have picked up on this.

Jeralt has not known peace since then.

"Captain!" For a moment, Jeralt wonders if Manuela or Hanneman ever have to deal with students stopping them in hallways. Or maybe it's just a Class Professor thing, since Jeralt can recognize the voice calling for him down the hallway.

Jeralt doesn't stop walking as he passes by the infirmary and heads for the stairs leading down to the first floor, but he does slow down to let Ashe catch up, the young boy panting when he reaches him.

"Anything you need, kid?" he asks once the kid has enough air in his lungs to reply.

"I went to your office to look for you, but Claude said you were in the Knight Captain's office. And then I saw you leaving and I'm so glad I managed to catch up with you before you left." Ashe says between breaths, gaining more stability as he follows Jeralt down the stairs.

Jeralt has half a second to ponder ' _Wait. Claude's in my office again--'_ before he continues, "Well. I'm here."

"Ah. Right. " Ashe grins sheepishly as he digs out something in his bag. His hand shoots out, a letter clutched between his thumb and his finger. "I went to the post earlier because they said I had a letter from Lord Lonato, and the people at the office told me they had a letter for you, so I volunteered to hand it to you for them."

Jeralt takes it, lips twitching at the familiar handwriting on the back. "It's from Byleth. Thanks, kid."

"Byleth?" Ashe perks up. "When are they coming back?"

"Soon, I hope. Their work at Gautier is probably over by now, barring any extra jobs the local Lord might give them." Jeralt snorts when he sees Ashe's expectant look. With a tilt of his head, he motions for Ashe to follow him to the bridge leading to the cathedral.

He sits at the ledge of the bridge, uncaring of the wide chasm that opens up behind him and into the drop below. He rips open the letter and starts to read, frowning as he goes on.

"...nothing good?" Ashe asks hesitantly, opting for the safer route of just leaning against the ledge.

"No." Jeralt shakes his head and tucks the letter into his pocket. "Byleth found another job somewhere else. Some other noble hired them after the last one. They won't be coming back for a while." Jeralt frowns. "They didn't say who hired them."

That's... Good? Not the last part, because it feels uncomfortably like Byleth is hiding things from him again and while Jeralt _knows_ they are, it is not a good feeling and he wants to ignore it. But they're not going to the monastery and are far, far away from where Rhea is.

Right, right.

Isn't this what he wanted? For Byleth to stay as far away from the monastery as possible? Why in Creation does he feel like a fist is squeezing in his chest?

Fuck. Of course he knows why. He made this decision, and he's sticking with it.

At first, he had only agreed because Byleth had asked and later, Jeralt had realized it was a great way to keep Rhea sated now that they were in her sights again.

And then. Well--

Jeralt stares down bemusedly at Ashe, who is fiddling with the cord of the jacket under his uniform, looking terribly awkward at Jeralt's obvious disappointment. Jeralt sighs, leaning back to stretch his spine and look up at the sky.

It's a beautiful day. Bright and sunny, with whisps of clouds occasionally floating by. If he tilts his head just right, one of the clouds even look like a sword, and just the thought of not having Byleth around to point it out to them makes his chest ache even more.

"Being a parent is hard," Jeralt says out loud. He turns to Ashe, who is now staring at him wide-eyed. "Don't get children until you know how to let go, kid. They'll grow up quicker than you realize. And then they make you worry about them by not telling you anything or doing weird shit. Maybe both."

Ashe, for some reason, beams at him. "Yeah. I miss Byleth too, Captain. Did you know, he asked me about Lord Lonato and my siblings a bunch? I guess they saw how much I missed them."

"Huh." Jeralt says, feeling very, very suspicious. "They weren't too nosy, were they? They can be insensitive without meaning to."

"Not really. " Ashe shrugs. "They're very nice. And they patted me on the head! That's the first time anyone's done that since-- since." Ashe's face falls.

Unwittingly, Jeralt feels the urge to do it as well. He wills his hand to tug at his braid instead. "That's good. It's great to see them making friends. They usually don't have the chance to back when we were travelling." With Ashe looking upset, Jeralt changes the topic. "Well, don't let me keep you, kid. Don't you have a letter to read?"

Ashe perks up, hand going to his chest where he had likely tucked the letter. "I've already read it. And, actually--" He digs out the letter, eyes skimming at some of the words. "I think Lonato mentioned it here..."

When he finally finds what he's looking for, Ashe continues, "You don't need to worry about Byleth, Captain. Lord Lonato was the one who hired them. It must not be anything too bad if he didn't tell me about it."

Gaspard. Lonato Gaspard. _Christoph Gaspard._

Jeralt closes his eyes.

_Goddess-damnit, Byleth_.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I should really stop promising when I put the next chapter on. I usually end up not following it. Sorry folks. I do want to finish this story soon, and it'll likely be my Nanowrimo project because oh god I don't want this to bleed into next year. I think I'll just put this in a series and put this story in as part 1. I may need to rethink the title, or come up with a theme to tie it all together. Hmmm. If there are any mistakes, I'll look into it tomorrow. I'm at like my 5th mug of beer and I hate it. Beer tastes awful. Why am I still drinking.
> 
> Also! Like, you would not believe the amount of rewriting I did for Sylvain's birthday. It was supposed to be two scenes, one with a _cave _, and then I had to cut it off and write a new scene, then two scenes, then back to one short scene. That is the entire reason why it took so long. I didn't want to cut anything but oh well.__
> 
> _  
> _Comments!  
>  \-- Jeralt: Oh fuck. The kids are gonna get trauma.  
> Jeralt: OH WAIT. They're Faerghans. That's normal.  
> \-- Jeralt ain't a perfect parent, but he's trying.  
> \--Annette's first kill quote: "I did it! See? I'm a great warrior!"  
> Me: "Annette what the fuck."  
> \-- If the kids find relief in praying, that's their thing. Jeralt won't take that away from them, even if he's been having... Issues... With the church as of late. Also, Mercy and Annette and Ashe are the ones I see in the church a lot? Along with Marianne.  
> \-- guys, Ingrid's "Your death is my duty." activated all my "THAT’S BADASS" screeching.  
> \--hey ya'll I did some research (which I houldve done before, lol) and I've learned that people in Fhirdiad are known for their crafts. Because they live in, like, what I assume is The North. There is no explanation for this, but because I am the creator of this fic, I'm gonna nitpick and say the 'crafts' are probably like weaponry and shit and are different to the crafts that Leicester specializes in. Lol. Anyway, Pretty sure Leicester has more food than Faerghus, which gives them the opening for citizens to focus on shit that isn't based on survival. A.K.A, art for art's sake.  
> \-- I was basing that on the first part of the game, when you're choosing your house. The kingdom is known for it's knights (cavalier and weaponry). In the same vein, for the empire, it's their mages. Which is weird as shit to me because the most well-known mage academy thing is in Faerghus, but whatever. I'm gonna assume that maybe its cuz of their book thing. For the alliance, it's their bowmen.  
> \-- I have half a mind to write a Sitri/Jeralt one shot. like. Intsy gave us literally nothing to work on except that theyre in love and. like. that is not enough to read Sitri's character on.  
> \-- Dimitri, Annette, and Ingrid are just REALLY TICKED that Jeralt assigned Claude the responsibility of being the Book Minder because that is a sign of TRUST and also THE TEACHER'S FAVOR. Kind of like how those those high-quality grade-A students in ur class like to fight each other via 'how many responsibilities can I juggle while maintaining my high-ass grades'. Or maybe that was just my class. It was fun to watch those students while my lazy ass just chilled in the 'putting in the minimum effort' section of the class back in hs. Those students were amazing and also mildly terrifying in their drive to be The Best.  
> \-- Jeralt Cannot Get Drunk unless he drinks several barrels worth of alcohol. It's both a curse and blessing. My in-story explanation is it's cuz he's a first generation crest wielder (aka, someone who was given the blood directly instead of having it inherited from parents) and I know in Seteth's and Manuela's support, I think Seteth mentioned he has a hard time getting drunk or cannot get drunk at all, and I assume that trait is passed down.  
> \-- huh. which means all the crest wielders in this story are kind of heavy weights, but with their blood diluted after how many generations, not as much as Jeralt's is.  
> \-- that training grounds scene was based on Mercedes's and Dimitri's first Support. I loved it, but I spent too long wondering why Mercedes was trying to learn swordsmanship. This was me trying to logic it.  
> \-- "Man. I was never popular with the kids when I was a knight" (Ignores the existence of Alois, who had probably been a teenager when he became Jeralt's squire.)  
> \-- Byleth: I am here with the plot.  
> Jeralt: By, I love you, but why do you do this to me._  
> _
> 
> _  
> _Anyway, thank you for all the kudos and comments and bookmarks! All this validation for my dumb writing is very sweet. I hope you all take care!_  
> _

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything with an actual plot structure in forever, so this'll be a blast. This entire story is just me finding an excuse to get Jeralt to interact with his kid and the students more. I am weak. Gimme a mentor character that doesn't die please.  
> This'll be in three parts.
> 
> It's been a while since I posted on AO3 so if there are any formatting issues or tag mistakes or tags missing, let me know. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit (09-11-20): ALSO, here's my [tumblr](https://isp-annafer.tumblr.com/). If I ever have any delays, I'll probably complain about it there.


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